Tag: postaday

The Unseen Outside

A wide expanse of green
with speckles of yellowing leaves.

Rays of a retreating sun, drenching
flowers as tiny as mice.

Earthy smell of newborn grass, mingled
with browning trees and groaning barks.

Shadows of towering sand, held
together in mountainous form.

And trees that reach for the skies,
green glaring at the blue.

Twin birds that peep from their nest,
nestled deep inside bushes of branches.

Slimy little creepers, caterpillars
basking on long felled trees.

He shut the book with a snap,
regretting the time he’s done
so much in the world left to see
all beyond the cold steel bars.
It was now time to end his time
reframe and recharge his life
and he shed his cloak of shame
that had weighed him down too long
and smiled as he left the fed prison.

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.

Roadside Reflections

We were well on our way to Thekkady when the heat dropped and dark clouds gathered. All around us, coconut trees swayed to the breeze, and plump bushes shook with joy.

We had entered Theni, a small town with a big reputation. Even as you say the name, you’d think spanning pastures, family animals, young girls hanging out in bright clothes, and school boys picking fights with the neighbour’s kids. That’s the picture the media had given us, and as we grazed over the Theni highway, something like a yellow balloon inflated in my chest.

We stopped and got out, greedy for some Theni essence. That’s when this photo happened. The car mirrored the trees on the opposite, along with the street divider line. It was a beautiful place with beautiful weather, and elation beyond words.

theni

Choices

Graceful, slender, tall, and blonde –
in fancy clothes she was donned
enrolled in a pricey school
off to be a dancer as planned.
Twinkletoes chose tennis instead,
proved passion meant more than all.

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.