Tag: looking back

Homesick

I’ve heard people talking about being homesick for someplace you’ve never been to. And now I feel it.

After spending as little as five days away from my routine, I now crave more of it. I liked waking up at three am to watch the sunrise through bamboo trees, I enjoyed trekking up a mountain just so we could look down at the plains, I cherish every moment I spend on road shuffling about my seat as we drove through some of the less paved roads.sunriseAnd then I came back. To waking up early so I could get to the bathroom before my roommates woke up, to trudging along the pavement as cars, lorries, and honking autos rushed past me, and made my hair stand up. I came back to my life in the world of air-conditioned offices, where Ralph Lauren, Louis Vuitton, and Ray-Bans were the casual ensemble. I came back to the world I knew I don’t belong.

As I inhaled the carbon dioxide from the hundreds of vehicles that passed me, it took me back to the day I stood in the middle of a tea estate engulfed in the smell of unpicked tea leaves. I remember the fresh water rivers, so clean and so turquoise. I hadn’t seen (or known of) such pure water before. I was so close to the earth, among flowers that bore the morning dew, amidst frozen lakes, and mountains so rough yet so beautiful.

frozen

I long for that.

I’m homesick for that closeness to nature. I crave for the mountain tops, the warm grassy plains, the chilly winter breeze, and the freezing snow peaks. It’s the kind of view a twelve storey corporate building couldn’t offer.

Big Mother

We don’t think or talk it about it everyday. But when someone mentions it, all we can think about is the earth’s greatness.

That’s how I looked at this topic. Anywhere I go, I’d take photos of everything around me. I’m fascinated by the natural resources that are gone to waste in our selfie society.

It’s amazing how the earth manages to bear all of human vanity, yet give away sights only she can. There is something so pristine about fresh water springs, dew drops on flower buds, unshaven mountain cliffs, and the scent of the first raindrop on parched land. If only we stopped our small talk and turned around to see what we’ve been missing all along.

dew drops

Over the Block

One day, I woke up, got ready for work, walked all the way, and switched on my computer to realise I couldn’t write a word.

the office

And that depressed me more than anything else.

Because I was stuck. It wasn’t a new feeling, of course. But when you’re getting paid to write, you can’t complain of bad days. I couldn’t bear the creeping guilt that gripped my throat forcing me to stare at the page that refused to fill up by itself.

Every new mail was torture. Every new chat message, every request added to the burden. I hated myself for being at work and not working. For not being able to work.

Some people played carrom in a corner. Their “boss” had taken the day off, so they had a field day too. They triggered my already-short temper; they laughed in high spirits while I tapped away on my Mac trying to make something sensible.

Yet some others packed their stuff, calling it a day. They had worked for eight hours straight scrutinising their code, evaluating, and reviewing their program. And here I sat too guilty to even open Buzzfeed.

Then there were the others who always had too much to do than they could ever manage. They had their eyes glued to their screens, shoulders hunched towards the black (square) hole that seems to vacuum them into its depths.

And here I was, wondering if I should add an extra tablespoon of peanut butter in my toast every morning. Even after four cups of coffee, my page was still blank. One of my friends understood. Or at least thought he did.

“Shit happens, dude.” he said, ruffling my hair and winking at me as if that should reassure me. That never reassures me. Not being able to do the only thing (I pride) I can do is not a case of shit happening. It’s more like the case of my entire life becoming a pile of shit.

Still, nothing. I looked through the window. We were high up on the twelfth floor, and the minuscule world below me seemed immaterial. Hundreds of vehicles, carrying thousands of people, trudged their way through jammed streets. Each honking as if the world blow up unless they had their way. But I slumped like a blob of pudding without the inspiration to write even a rhyming couplet.

I turned to the heavens for a hint. For a flash of enlightenment, something to help me unstuck myself, and restart my work. I saw what I see everyday: The sun giving away all her glory to anyone who cared to appreciate. It was cloudy like any other day. Yet the sun shone through all that clouded her vision.

And I wondered: Why couldn’t I write a piece that would shine through the same cloud that protects it?

I wondered. Still, nothing more than this.

Pondicherry, Unmatched

There’s nothing quite like it: Standing on the sandy shores, sipping warm comfort, and staring at foamy waters crashing into rocks.

pondy

And that’s how I remember the city of Pondicherry. With her manicured streets, fresh-brewed coffee, and a view that demands attention, the city it still one of my all time favourites.

The beach played a major role, of course, but so did the no-vehicles policy. Every evening, the police ensure that no vehicles enter the beach road. That time’s for the tourists to walk along the beach, get a cup of cocoa, or a bite of corn, and retreat to a fancy restaurant for dinner.

 

beach roadThe entire area is built and managed in favour of the visitors. No wonder people love it there. Plus, it helps a lot that Pondicherry is a French colony. The street we stayed in — the Beach road — and a neighbouring streets were all so well furnished.

I stood in the street looking up at the looming concrete. They were unlike any other building I had seen, and it was obvious the government wants to please their tourists.

The infamous Aurobindo ashram is a huge attraction as well. So many Europeans have made the ashram their life, and the city their home. Even the shopping sites in the city seem to favour the their tastes. Wool, cotton, linen, and hand-loomed — it was such a pretty display of material and colours.

Oh, and the food. Since it’s a coastal city, there’s no short of fish, and all things sea food. And, the city’s a bit relaxed in alcohol rules. With the best of both worlds, most restaurants serve alcoholic drinks throughout the day — something the south of India never approves.

food

Pondicherry welcomes modernity in moderation. From where I come, however, people frown even at the idea of drinking in social conditions. It’s sad that folks sometimes look at the city as a bachelor’s haven, a place of mischief and misconduct.

But when I bit into those fish fingers, the sauce tingling my tongue and the steam seeping through my teeth, I stopped caring about what the world says. Pondicherry is a great place. And I’ll never pass an opportunity to go again.

For Love of Love

Sacrifice —
Sleep.
Desire.
Grandeur.
And glamour.

Palate.
Privilege.
Longing.
And craving.

For —
Moments.
Meltdowns.
And marvels.

Motherhood.