This December

Well, this whirwind of a month seems to be drawing to a close, and with it the old year is yielding itself to the new. The nip in the air is slowly waning, and Winter will soon have to renounce its strong-hold on Weather Kingdom. Oh what a month this has been, with weddings and family re-unions, loss and love.

My father lost his aunt, something which grieved us deeply. One very beautiful and profound quotation by Cicero repeated itself in our minds (De Senectute)...a person who leaves the world at an advanced age is akin to a ship coming into harbor, a ship which has finished a long and eventful voyage on a wide, wide sea...like a ripe fruit, which has fallen to the ground, having spent its allotted hours on the tree of life. It made me realize that we are all living on borrowed time, and hence life is really too short to be taken too seriously...And life should ideally be a celebration of just Living, and Breathing, Exploring and Loving, Discovering and Learning and Re-learning.

Then there were the Weddings. So many people we know decided to tie the Nuptial Knot this month. Some of them were barely a year older than me. This frightened me. When did I grow up enough to have friends who were getting married? Did the years just slip me by, like the brisk morning breezes which we miss when we over-sleep? "Where have all the" years "gone?" Or have they gone anywhere at all? Don't they simply accumulate, like chapters of a book, till we reach the end of our journey on Earth? In that case, aren't all our lives books, some written, some read, and others forgotten? I remember a Time, a long spell back, when an invitation to a wedding party simply meant shiny new clothes, gorgeous lights and fragrant flowers, and a hearty, delicious repast. It still conjures all these things in my mind, but now I ponder upon other things as well...I hope each couple will embark on years of magnificent togetherness, kinship, and will support and endlessly love each other through their days and nights. Now I look for emotions hidden in the eyes of each couple, happiness mixed with apprehension, strain-mixed-with elation, joy diluted by irrational misgivings...The excited voices all around, the hopes, the expectations which hover upon the couple, the superficial fun the children have, running around and wildly yelling, just as we used to do, unaware of the loftiness of the decision, the risks, and all the wonderful chances the couple who have decided to get married, have taken.

December is a month of Possibilities. I say that because I feel that Cold weather affords a lot of possibilities. Vacations are pleasanter and life yearns to be exploited and explored. We took a little trip to Shantiniketan, a sacred haven still, for Poetry aNd Peace. I might be being fanciful, but I feel that Poetry takes a tangible form in this lovely place. I can feel it in the wind which whips my face in the early mornings, I can feel it in the slight shivers I feel when Dusk Descends, I can feel it each time the Rickshaw takes a sudden turn, and my eyes are accosted by a sudden spray of roses, a sudden bunch of flowers, a sudden burst of trees. I can see it in the Crimson-Orange Sunset, I can hear it in the music of the Bauls at the Baul-Mela, and I breathe it every time I walk in to Rabindranath Tagore's Garden...oh, he has flung Poetry in the air, enough to stir the most prosaic of souls, or so I feel.
And then there IS the warmth of being at home, being surrounded by what is the most precious feeling on Earth: Unconditional Love, Absolute Love, Family Love...feeling warm from Love in a cold Winter month beats consuming a spoon of Medicinal Brandy for warmth, if I may use that metaphor.
And then there are my friends, friends who love me, and friends who I love, those who let me be the way I am and spoil me with their love...friends who I have known for years, who have all grown up with me, we've been through trials and tribulations, but have stuck it out...and that's what counts...
Life is all about making connections, ranging from mental, physical, emotional to SPIRITUAL...
And then, sigh, there is Gilbert Blythe in my lovely Anne books, and the one I still await...still amorphous, still elusive...I wish L.M. Momtgomery would write out this chapter of my life for me...<3
Yesterday we made our annual visit to the Little Village we visit, and I had the most splendid of times, I renewed my kinship with The Bicycle, and I cycled around the "gram," like a girl possessed...and now am bravely facing the inevitable consequences of sore muscles and aching appendages.

A Wintry Morning.

I am back in my room. I am back to the clickety-clackity sounds of my old lap top. My Window is open behind me, looking upon the Bridge, on which I used to travel to and from my College cum University. My room has welcomed me back with an ease which belies my absence.
The weather is just as it used to be...I never want to miss this evasive chill, the mist-laden mornings, the honey-tinted afternoons, which is really almost akin to a turned-over jar of honey being slowly emptied of its sunshiny goldenness. And then the sudden Darkness, the too-early evenings, the nippiest nip in the air....ooh.
And the best thing about being back is JUST being back. It feels like I've never left. All my little idiosyncracies pounce back upon me as soon as I return, the ones which I though I had lost forever. My books are yearning to be read another time, note pads wish to be scribbled in, or so I'd like to believe. And stories are spinning in my head, unwoven thoughts which wish to be woven into a narrative.
And then there are Weddings to attend, re-unions to attend. oH the pleasures they afford.
Here is my room, in which I had spun together the Golden threads of ambition. SorRY fot the constant reference to Golden, but it is SUCH a golden DAY TODAY. In this room had I pain-stakingly solved SAT and subsequently GRE papers. The very walls will testify the many application essays which I had written, the tests I'd studied for. The musical notations which I had tried to make sense of still waft silently across the room, and hang in stillness in the many corners and nooks. Ech piece of furniture has a fun anecdote to share. Like the table which had to be dragged up four flights because it could not possibly be fit into the lift, the wardrobe, built under my mum's supervision, which took days and days to take shape, the red revolving chair which had fallen with me, and had to be repaired, being quite indispensable.
The sounds of the garage, which used to annoy me in the past, have ceased to irk me now. They re-assure me in their steadfast, unshaken presence, something still unchanged in this ever-changing world. Now, that sounds quite bizarre. Hmmmm. And my Purple-Pink Quilt, which I love so much is still so snug and warm, and rosysmelling.
I love the sofa upholstery tooooooo....the warm red and beige stripes which spell HOME.

Company...?

I've learnt to keep myself company. My inherent Disposition, or whatever you may call it, wants me to talk to people all the time. It is a strange need, a bizarre urge I need to satisfy. I love communicating with people, exploring their thought processes, sharing their emotions and letting them into my mind-scape. Even when I was back in Cal, I would pick up the phone and talk to people, if I was left alone for over an hour or so. But that needs to change. And it is changing. When you are so far away from all the people you love, and those who love you back with a great degree of Unconditionality, you must learn to be your own best company, and keep yourself happy...with a "little help from my friends," of course....Music, Books, Poetry, You tube, Facebook(I was never so active on Facebook in my life, but now it lets me keep in touch with my friends, there I go with my need to communicate with people again), and of course Movies. What I do miss is Theatre...both watching it as an awed spectator and performing in plays, and the endless hours of imperfect-nearing perfect rehearsals. And Dance rehearsals. I also miss conversations, often passionate, never in complete concordance, with my friends on Literature...I also miss the "DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN..." Conversations with my friends of yore, with whom I have a veritable collection of treasured memories.I also, ok, this will sound VERY weird, miss conjugating French verbs, and never quite getting them right on the first go. And then I miss the pressure of conjugating Italian verbs, which I always muddled up with French, and thus exasperated my Teacher...and I miss lovers of Romantic Literature, who would hyper-ventilate about Keats with moi

A tale

The room was dark and cold. A fire was blazing in her mind. She sat very still in an old, rickety wooden chair. Her thoughts were in a mess...disarrayed, disordered. She shivered slightly, and got up slowly. She paced the room, stopping every two seconds, to take a deep, long breath...she would just let go, she would give up, she would forget...it wouldn't be too hard, or would it? She should have never thought about it the way she had. It was her mistake. She frowned, and her brows JOINED...it always seemed to work out for others...but never for her...people didn't believe her...but it was true..She surveyed the walls, the dampness she detected re-assured her...she would slowly come to terms with the way this was meant to be...and fall into an undesired groove of lfe, which was practical.

...

The Passive Voice of Active Reason,
Kept milling in my mind...
It was one of its kind...
It spoke in murmurs, it told me the Truth,
Which was half-blurred in its illuminated sanctimoniousness...
I didn't know what to think,
I questioned myself
Should I be sad, hen I'd rather be Glad?
This is why I detest getting emotionally attached...
Expectation is a Dangerous Thing...
The world of Fabricated fancies is a safer place,
Life is easier, when it is a fast and furious race,
With no time for extra thought, at a contemplative pace, slow
Is not the way to go...
Thinking is drinking the mind away to waste...
Why expect anything, when Fate already has plans?
Or does it...is it not what we make of it?
I dunno...my mind is spinning,
Yarn upon yarn...none of them ever cme true...
Well, not ALL

May I, please?

Dear Blog,
I would like you to grant me permission to hyperventilate about the aspects of the world which I love!!! I love CREATIVITY...I am totally captivated by Satyajit Ray's brilliance...I mean, how versatile can you get? He was an excellent movie maker, and he touched upon many sensitive social issues, and came down heavily on superstitious practices, ( a film like Devi, for example), he was an amazing author, his short stories are quirky, informative, and very well told, well-spun yarns. His Feluda is UNPARALLELED. And boy, was he an excellent bi-lingual -speaker...he could give established orators a run for their money...and Rabindranath Tagore...OMG! need I say more? How could someone use a language so beautifully? Though it is true that Bengali is a very, very, really very beautiful language, and I love it and am so very, very grateful to have been born in to it...
I also find it fascinating when people do work which can really make a difference to the lives of others...which is why I have such high respect for those who teach and those who heal...as in, doctors and nurses..., and those who do research in areas which need to be researched...
I don't know if I will ever make a difference in any one's life, but I hope to touch lives along the way...and I hope to help them in some way I can...
And I miss my home, but I feel that this'training' was necessary...I was just thinking about something...this can really pull you through life...you can either try your best to 'adapt,' or you can just be 'miserable.' Adapting is easier...
I bought a new pink camera, this is a random insert...but cameras are strange machines? They can really freeze moments in time, and replay and record with uninterrupted ease...

Oh for the sake of rhyming...

The Light engulfed me from every side,
Until, all that I wished to hide,
Was washed ashore, with the in-coming tide,
And I sat down in despair, and cried and cried...

I really don't know why I am writing all this...This is going to be a random post...desultory is another favorite word of mine...I think I have forced myself to focus on something concrete for three years and a bit...which is good, I feel less desultory...though it is STILL a favorite word of mine...and what else...the moon was engulfed in a sea of clouds today...I wished to quote Noyes, and call it a "Ghostly Galleon," but then I realized that the word "galleon," could not be applied to a full moon, as it really means a ship, which is echoed in the moon's crescent shape...I have realized that I love making conversations with people and that I love making new friends...and I am sniffing adventure in every corner, as I used to do of yore...and my imagination insists on running wild, though I keep it in firm check...and I love so many things...every tree is really a friend...

I have realized...

tHAT i KEEP REFERRING TO EVENINGS ALL OVER MY BLOG, IT Is a recurrent motif....why though? I ask myself...I love evenings, the time of the most magical transition...as Light slowly slips us by, changes her garments, dons many hues and steals away, bidding adieu for the night...I really feel like Nature is throbbing with life, at this time...and the soft, black curtain of night unravels itself on us, like a rich cascade of raven-hair...

WHy?

The articulation of Silence

As I was walking home this evening, a wonderful velvety, mellow one, I was just trying to compile the myriad thoughts which have been building up in my mind, over the past few days...And in the uninterrupted stillness, I found myself focusing on every breathing, palpable minute...My past few days have been a rush of activity...I've met so many new people, stumbled upon so many new perspectives and have felt more at peace with the world...I had an interview a few days ago, and just when my adrenaline was beginning to 'kick' me into a state of worried frenzy, I chanced to look upon this fish in an aquarium...and it seemed to be living only for the present moment...and all at once, something just seemed to flash inside me...that each moment should be enjoyed to the fullest as a unique experience...and no mistake you make will last forever...I don't know, perhaps my connection was random, but there it was, just there.
I don't know if I'm really making sense, but I have begun to really appreciate life for its minutest details...like every time I just inhale...I just feel soooo lucky, so blessed...and it has helped me become, or at least strive towards a greater level of acceptance, tolerance and understanding...Besides that...well, you know...

...

The last time I looked, the flower was blooming,
It's thorns were young and green;
Life, like a ghost, was desultorily looming
It's real form yet unseen.

Thoughts

Some evenings, like this peach-pink one outseide my window, are reserved for thinking.
Thinking about the various goings-on in the world and MY COUNTRY.

The Jan Lokpal Bill has raised a stir in India, and a lot of eloquent commentary on it is flying around websites, newschannels, college campuses and possibly coffee houses. And it is very heartening to see so many Indian citizens taking such an active interest in the Bill. There might be people who actully whole-heartedly support this campaign, others who might detect flaws in it, and yet others who may feel the need to oppose it. There might be people who are still pondering over the Bill's efficacy, and the consequences which might arise if it is passed by the government. I must say that as an Indian citizen, it is heartening to see so many people so actively engaged in thinking about this movement, in critically scrutinising it...we should realise that apathy is never the answer, and the 'aam junta' always has a responsibility...to think, to be vocal, to analyse and to act...indifference will only breed danger for all...we must use our faculties to the best of our abilities, in times such as these. Whether the Bill is successful or not, if passed, is something only time can and will tell...it is not possible to make entirely accurate hypothetical predictions, though one may well draw upon similar historical incidents...but contexts are ever-changing things, and I do believe that any step towards a positive change should be ruminated upon, encouraged and yet scanned thoroughly for loop-holes, instead of being simply dismissed into the realm of apathy by those who believe that their lives will not be directly affected by it...such were my thoughts when returning home from the library today...out of all thoughts emerge ideas and actions, some of which may directly affect the society we inhabit.Let's hope for the BEST.

What I miss most, not least...Part 2

I miss waiting for classes to begin, I miss waiting for classes to end. I miss wearing a new outfit to class, I miss feeling very apprehensive after a new haircut. I really miss resisting my friends' many attempts to coax me into having phuchka, and then finally resisting the temptation by yielding to it, to borrow from Wilde. I miss discussing books, analysing them for hours and coming up with bizarre interpretations. I miss reading poetry together with ma fiends, and making each other laugh with our weird comments...read:"balmy drops, " from A. Tennyson's IN. M...I miss studying together before our exams, shesher dike online, on gmail...and sending each other random links which we thought might be useful...What don't I miss...I miss those sudden trips to Dakshinapan, those stolen visits to The Dolly Tea House, those never ending walks of ours, our way back home via the Dhakuria Bridge, how my friend and I bid each other adieu on the steps...how I felt a gush of warmth when I saw the blue gates which spelt home.

A STROLL DOWN A LANE OF RAMBLING NOSTALGIA

What is it that I miss the most about my days in JU? I think I miss the smell of the rain-drenched grass by the jheel. I miss the slowly approaching summer evenings,the mellow and sudden winter evenings, the pink and violet evenings of spring, the clear and bright Shorot evenings, the stormy and tempestuous monsoon evenings... the time reserved for twilight and friends, the steaming cups of sugary coffee at Milonda's dear canteen, our cups of tea from the cha-walla near Char (4) Nombor Gate, our rant against the mosquitoes and red ants, our endless conversations about endless things. I can vividly recall our dissected dreams, our myriad littlw hopes, our comfortable fears and our feelings of togetherness, when the sun had set. I miss running into people from University, and having the most random, mostly interesting and sometimes very profound conversations. I miss sitting near Vivekananda Hall, dodging the cigarette smoke, listening to other people play the guitar and sing undecipherable songs. I miss popping into the book-store and occasionally hopping out with a treasured buy. I miss the sudden greenness, I miss the random chaos, I miss the undeniable order of things, which insisted on structuring our lives, despite all our liberty.
I miss my classes, I miss the Ledge, ((never sat on it, though.))I miss getting sudden glimpses of people, I miss discussing our lessons together. I miss so many things, and yet I am not sad...I remember more than I yearn...a lot of misunderstandings can occur among friends, but one should not let that freeze up, or embitter one's memories, should it? The good times must always be remembered in fond and charming fondness.
I miss coming in late for a class and feeling terrible about it, I miss exchanging glances with friends, I miss our pointless debates, which ALWAAAYS had a point, I miss missing the point totally, mostly in relation to innuendos, ahhem, I miss ambling around, I miss complainin' about term papers and tests, and the secret sessions of SparkNotes we all completed...I miss the frantic phone calls before end sems., trying to figure out how much choice we had in the question paper, and which texts we might very, very safely leave out. I miss our group study sessions. I miss the feeling of being attached to a place which had suddenly, and unknowingly become my own. And i miss going HOME at the end of a day...
I might as well enjoy my time now, before it slips me by, and I begin to miss a new episode...

A Story to Tell

As the evening unfolds, so does my story. It begins in the bylanes of a small locality, which shall remain unnamed. I must begin at the very end. The chapter of the unseen planets. But how did I get there? Must you know? Well, I began the story, I know that, but must I articulate every inch of my tale by myself? I could use some help, for sure....

Dear Diary.........!

Dear Diary,
I am infinitely grateful for ever so many things. I've always wished to 'study' in another country for a spell. It has been one of my most ardent, deep and long-lasting dreams. I had imagined a life so different, so full of infinite possibilities and unknown potential. I love interacting with people from different cultures, and engaging in enriching symbiotic relationships. All those dreams are blooming like a mysterious flower, petal by petal, each new day. I am happy, to the say the least. But something, I can't quite say what, seems to be missing...oh, the campus is lovely, a verdant wonder, ....more later...

Another evening

The evening pulls me into myself,
In silent contemplation,
In exhaustive introspection,
In quiet, private, expectation,
I will wait for you.

Though the days are blurred and hurried,
Though the hours are capped with work,
Though my songs are left unwritten,
As they die upon my tongue,
Though my thoughts are still amorphous,
They crystallise at times,
When I convince myself,
That the wait is worth the while...

I have a life to carve,
I have a dream to shape,
It may take me a while,
To realise what it was,
I will spend my idle hours,
(Though there are very few,)
I will re-construct my desires,
And wait the while for you...

I have a while to work,
I have forever to learn,
We all have livings to earn,
But I shall not yearn
for you,
I shall instead,
Wait in well-rehearsed optimism...

So when walk past the lake of dreams,
Limpid with our love,
When we taste the bite of reality,
As we brush past its rude shove,
When we dance amidst the rainbow clouds of expectant hopes,
When we avert our eyes from blazing, orange flames,
We'll be together, and our wait will be over at last.
If only for a while.

Surprise

Nothing ever prepares you for the initial jolt of realisation! Every inch of pragmatic philosophy flies out the nearest window, as soon as one of my knind leaves home. And it becomes essential to re-discover oneself, and hunt out one's deep, unchangeable identity.
I really don't know how to articulate the way I often feel these days. Waves of homesickness insist on breaking themselves over me, whenever the tide is in...and that is more often than not. Sometimes I ache to meet the person I used to be. I don't think I've changed...I hope not...but I fear that the mad idealist, the irrepresible dreamer and the incorrigible enthusiast are all hibernating for the time being. I miss all my kindred spirits, I miss a certain ease with which I used to view life, I miss a certain unexplainable way I had of looking at things...I miss mt frequent flights of fanciful imagination...I miss myself...I find myself bereft of my indulgent friends and family members. I am, of course, very grateful for all that I have...and whenever I'm in a spot, I never fail to count my blessings, (a habit of yore, which I've yet seemed to retain)...I just wish these non-issues would sort themselves out soon, so the gushing romantic ( about the world, of course) in me could return soooon.

a tale of 2

A voice insistently lingers,

In a crevice of my mind:

And its silken fingers run,

Softly down my spine.

That hint of a quiver,

And that silent shiver,

Refuse to let me pine.



There flits a lone mistral,

A lightly tripping breeze...

A pastiche of past perfumes,

Which puts my mind at ease,

And yet

Does its best to tease

My soul,

By dividing it,

And yet

Making it whole.



There lilts an arcane melody,

Amidst the whirring of my heart:

Which matches the rhythmic beats,

With its tuneful art...



There lies a sleepless whisper,

In the depths of my ear,

Which keeps you locked in me

When you're far from near.

I can still hear that voice

Since you're far yet near.,

AN EVENING

There are just so many ways in which one can actually spend an evening like this...the best way, for me, is to spend it carefully, in idle contemplation...sometimes life is so mesmerisingly beautiful in its connected wholeness, in its infinite potential, in its glorious epiphany, in its stingingg disillusion, in its absolute absurdness, in its incredible dynamism and its beautiful stillness...in the unsurpassed, surprised wonder of each new friendship, in the amazing incredulity of each newly-forged bond, each unthinkable kinship. In the unforgotten poignance, in quietly treasured joys, in its strange silences, its imagined romances and deep introspections. In the way in which Life whisks us across space and time, across people and places, across latitudes and oceans and unseen seas. Over Unknown meadows, far away hills, empyrean heights and deep, sunken gorges. I cannot quite understand and am trying in vain to figure it out. Everything both makes sense and doesn't. It seems to resist and invite intepretation...so alluring and evasive it is...