Tag: looking back

Over the Edge

It was in the Periyar Tiger Reserve in Thekkady. That’s where I came across this information centre. They had details about popular tourist attractions in Thekkady, including wildlife sanctuaries, safaris, over night camping plans, and more.

This building in particular, had a weird shape that I had to click it. I love curved edges and beautiful outlines. I like the idea that a building can be sharp and curved at the same time.

And I love the mild pointy top of the arch, the 90 degree angle of the doors, the the roof of the building sloping down, and—best of all—the uneven bricks laid along the arch. There are so many different edges in this picture that I had to take it.

edge

Personality Tests Are Crap

Because personalities change.

People change. And not because they want to. Oftentimes, we make choose things in life without an option to choose another option. We do what we need to do—whether we want to or not.

People change. And not because they want to. Oftentimes, we make choose things in life without an option to choose another option. We do what we need to do—whether we want to or not.

How then could a bunch of random questions determine who you are? How would you answer from the heart when you’re not even true to who you are on the inside?

I was born an introvert. Shy, imaginative, creative, and dreaming. And way off reality. If I had remained the same, a personality test would’ve revealed results much different from what it would do now.

Because I’m different now.

I’m not the same person I was five years ago. Or ten, for that matter. Because the things I’ve seen, the people I’ve met, and my experiences with the world have changed me in so many ways. I’m not as naive as I used to be. Or foolish, or unknowing. I don’t watch as much reality television as I used to. I don’t revere film starts , or Google the age of an attractive upcoming actor. I don’t read Archie comics huddled under my bed sheets at night, or gawk at boys with budding moustaches and men with unruly beards. I don’t judge people by their looks, and I no longer trust anyone blindly.

I’d like to think I’ve grown, matured, as a person. From the primary school innocence to the middle school hair flip, to the now-abundant face palm moments, I’ve evolved with the times.

No personality test would cover all of that and still make sense. Sure, it would’ve been accurate the first time. But only then. Sure, it would have told me I’m nice, trustworthy, friendly, kindly, and all other “ly” verbs I now cringe at. I would have been elated then. Disgusted now.

And maybe if I take another personality test now, the results would be less embarrassing. But that too would pass. When I get older, I hope to have changed. I hope to have become wiser and more sensible than I am now. And then, the test I take today would be absolute bollocks.

Perhaps it would be a fun memory.

Home, I Go

It matters where you’re headed more than how you’re headed.

If you’re wondering who said that, it is I.

I realised the truth in those words for the first time as I leaned back on my seat, and heard a disapproving grunt from the passenger behind me.

350 kms and about seven hours on a bus. (It would be five and a half or six during the day, but no one’s decoded the Indian standard time yet). Oh, and the seven hours doesn’t include the hour-long (or longer) wait at the bus stop because we Indians don’t conform (to timetables, in particular), and our roads aren’t paved to accommodate on-timers.

In fact, going home on a Friday night isn’t something to look forward to, but more of a painful endeavour.

Still, though, every time I go home, my spine would tingle for my lazy couch and my stomach would growl for some homemade gravy. For every back-breaking minute I endure on the bus, I imagine lying at home sipping steaming tea and streaming shows I’ve never watched before.

Because when you’re at home, you’re home. You’re the celebrity and you get — in a day — all you’ve craved for the last six months.

And that thought makes all the potholes and broken armrests worthwhile. Nevertheless, the journey is all about tossing over trying to sleep on a seat that’s meant to be sat on. Or staring out at the dark sky dotted with specks of silvery stars, and pretending that other buses shrieking through the silent night doesn’t bother me at all.

I manage to do all that, every single time. And when the bus stops for a midnight break, I look at the watery mess they call coffee, and I smile. Because I know it’ll be better in the morning and I’d be home.

Made to Order

made to order

The ideal one is neither a riff raff
nor the tied-up, suited honest freak
not the shaven, tall, dark, or handsome
and certainly not the short-haired one.

The ideal one feels home with bell bottoms,
weeded hippies and loose collared shirts
the expert guitarists and beard nurturers
and a healthy addiction to cigars and beers

The ideal one is a peace craving soul rebel
who picks a pick, a headband over a love band
a sneaker or seeker, but with sneakers still on
or boots or roller blades, as long as it’s his own
who’s moved away from dad, and disregards every fad
who’d join hands and nods head to every new joint
who knows governments are cheats, political creeps
fights for the oppressed supports the suppressed
like a medical man and the clinically depressed,

The ideal one is one who stands his ground,
who speaks his mind, and folds his arms
and when he smiles it comes from the heart,
and reaches all the way to the eyes.

Stranger Things

On my first trip to Kerala, I stayed awake all night. I stood at the door of the bus, clutching to the frame and watching the dark sky lighten.

It was three years ago, on a school trip. But the memories still linger, as if just yesterday I stood at the footstep, nibbling chocolate chip cookies at 4 am.

We started out at around 10 pm the previous day, and just like any trip with friends, we talked, and sang, and danced well into the night. But as darkness fell, most of my classmates started to doze off. I sat down next to a friend who fell asleep in an instant, making me howl with jealousy. I plugged in my earphones, instead, and sat up straight wondering what to do in a bus full of sleeping classmates with only the driver to talk to.

And then I got bored. The wind blew harder with every mile we passed. The cold October breeze stung through the open windows. Pulling my cap over my ears, I walked over to the entrance of the bus. Unlike the usual full-length, the door was about my height so I could look out without reaching out.

I put my head through the door, and a warning call came from behind. The driver’s companion (who’d take the wheel when the other driver needed a break) yelled at me to stop being a fool. I flashed a sheepish grin and assured him I wouldn’t hang out the door or rest too hard on it. It was a secure door, I knew but you can never be too careful.

And so I stood there, gazing at trees passing us at 45 miles per hour. From swaying green monsters, I saw them transition to black ghosts. As the night moved onto early morning, a blueish hue appeared over the horizon, and lights popped up at every corner I turned to.

My stomach growled. I pulled out a packet of cookies and went back to my lair. A friend on a seat nearby jerked awake and joined me. We stared out at the tents that lined the highway, lights within them illuminating creepy silhouettes with butcher knives. We passed a few more tents and noticed large bodies hanging on the entrance of the tents.

It took us more than one chilling moment to recognize what it was. Kerala is famous for dark meat, and with the rest of the country dabbling in holy cow controversies, it wasn’t so obvious to us that the beef dealers started their day early. Once we understood that, we smiled at ourselves and began pointing out gory silhouettes.

It was the closest we could ever get to being in a thriller a movie. We basked in the sensation, and a while later, the sun peeked from pink clouds, cast them away, and walked out in full glory. More of my classmates began to stir, ready to explore the wonderful land of Kerala.

While they chattered away, I traced my way back to my seat. My adventure had come to an end, and staying up all night had given me a headache.