The Last Time

I have been trying to remember when was the last time I had so much time to myself.

It may have been the last time that I would have had to sit down and write. And such bad are the times that it has taken me more than 3 weeks of solitary confinement to finally think of penning something down. Well better late than never, now that I have reached a frequency of writing one post a year, I might as well take this opportunity to make the one for this year. I must say, in the era of micro-communication, the art of good writing seems to have gone to trash. But it is a moment to introspect more and get back to peening thoughts to paper. So let us give it a shot once again, shall we?

The eyes seem to part, as they dart towards the clock, the days seem to be getting warmer now. It was Day 23 of the lockdown but life seems to have been like this for decades. The hand reaches out into the air for a sign of life, a palm to catch, a chain of reprieve and at last I find it. As I feel the familiar smoothness of the phone screen, it excites my heart in anticipation of news. The routine continues, messages are read and replied to, the count of infected and dead in the country is checked and then compared to the number of the rest of the world. I could be watching the medal tally at the olympics for all I know, USA steals the show at the top with superpowers trailing behind. As I start counting from top to bottom, I find India at number 17, struggling to keep up with the rest of the world. I may be jailed for saying something like this nowadays, but thankfully, the political mania has taken a backseat for now, everyone seems to be concerned about the next piece of hot news concerning COVID-19. The word of the day, week, month, year, decade and century.

The heat seems to be getting to me as I curse myself for the umpteenth time for not buying a remote for my Air Conditioner which runs at a fixed temperature of 18 degrees. I seem to have befriended crows now as they swoop over to my window and drink out of the bucket of water that I keep for the excess water from the AC. I wonder if they would have noticed life coming to a standstill for the humans below, hope there is enough garbage for them to mingle through.

The world seems to be trying to cope up with this mania and keep themselves up and running, work out videos, online conferences, Dalgona coffee, Sari challenges, anything at all to keep themselves from realising the futility of their own existence, the anxiety of their uncertain future, the unknown end that awaits them all.

But as of now, I seem to be enjoying myself though, the solitary confinement puts me in a state of ease, allows me to relax beyond the wildest of my expectations and not make me feel guilty of procrastinating. These are unprecedented times and I believe all of us need to make the most it, not by keeping up with the rest of the world but maybe for once, take that chance to do something else instead. I have realised that cooking is much easier than I thought it out to be. Cooking Butter chicken, Fried Rice, Hummus, Palak Paneer, Rajmah, Dal Chawal, Chilli Chicken couldn't have come at a better time.

I will take a pause now and return with a more creative mind to pen down stories than talk of the current state of affairs. Do stay safe though, there is a virus out there.

Down the Rabbit Hole

In a freak turn of events, almost exactly a year later, I find myself facing the keyboard in the struggle to put together my thoughts and write something down. Over the past few months, I have had to come to grips with the fact that I don't have much time left with me. Not because I have become a victim of some terminal disease, but just knowing the fact that there is so much to know and see in this world, that it will never be enough.

Fear not, this is not some sort of a fatalistic post which is meant to open the taps of sorrow and into the river of solitude but only a realisation that we have all been born to do one thing only, tell stories. Not just to our children before we put them to sleep but also to each and every person there is. In the past few years, I stumbled across a hole in the ground that was not even the size of my thumb but upon digging, it evolved into a hole that could fit a man inside it. Not only dig deeper, but I decided to enter into this hole, not sure which end I would come out of. It could well be China on the other end.

My tenure in this city has been for the last 4 years and it only scares me to realised that in this time period, I have aged like any other person, but brought to a realisation that I have barely scratched the surface in unearthing the stories buried beneath my feet. This rabbit hole only goes deeper and deeper with each passing day and it is only a matter of time when I will not even be able to look back at the light that I have left behind.

In my time here, I have met many such men and women who have gone beyond into this realm, immortalised, victimised, alone, yet accomplished but slaves to the power of time. They have all tried to piece together a puzzle which has left many enchanted, yet incomplete as they tried to piece together the history this megapolis that has netted millions into its deceitful eyes in allure of its fame, richness for eternity. There is something in the winds, that run through my lungs and make me want to go deeper down this hole.

For now, I shall rest and wake up tomorrow to wonder what mysteries it beholds for me to solve, the island of good life, the heptanesia, the euthanasia, the Urbs Prima in Indis.

It will not be easy

With each passing year, my frequency at grabbing the pen seems to be decreasing at an exponential rate, inversely proportional to the amount of rust which gathers over my creativity. It is a struggle to put together a few words now. The mind still wanders, reminisces and writes but only in thoughts and not on paper. And hence, I must return to this platform so that I can still keep a hold of a skill I discovered in my formative years. It is true that far more interests have come into the foray that occupy my time to no ends. But as I must be true to myself and my identity, I must not forget where I have come from.

To many more posts, I bid thee farewell

King of the Castle

Last night I slept in a house all alone.

A house that I had spent most of my life growing up in. I am 28 years old now and as I wake up on this morning of a summer haze in 2017, there is not a soul around. The cacophony of the television blaring in the wee hours, the whistling of the pressure cooker blowing off steam, the opening and closing of the doors in every other room, all has now vanished. As I child I was made fun of because I had soft corner for non-living things. I would want to carry everything with me to wherever I went because I felt that inanimate object would else feel bad. Later, I grew up. I threw away all that I felt was junk and detached ties with whatever I felt may have a memory but did not have a purpose. But today, I am that kid again. Memories, birthday parties, laughter, faces have come and gone. Colors have been painted over these walls time and again, now there are flowers everywhere and senseless hangings that have replaced the best of art from Van Gogh and Da Vinci. But some things have remained the same, the damaged floor which once was a mystery of mazes as each stone inside differed from the other, the wooden cupboards where I would sneak inside and hide from my enemies, the fan which would be the only sound heard through the night. We have stuck together through all these times and even today in my solitude I have you all as my friends.

This is my home for as long as I can call it my own, my sanctuary that detaches me from my present and drops me off at my past. When the time comes, I will have to bid goodbye to you too. My presence may no longer be around to touch you one last time or the other way round, but believe me when I say this. This house will always be my home.

Last night I slept at home all alone.

Hymns for the Weekend : Part 1 - The Imperial Cinema

As I feel the fur of my cat rub against my arm, I am back to my keyboard, keeping a promise of penning down my experiences rather than forget about them and let time give me a distorted description. The weekend that has passed was one of two very drastic days. One day I was alone, walking the streets of an unknown metropolis and yet speaking to myself while the other day had me in the company of many and yet I chose to be as quiet as a mouse. Carefully judging the characteristics, the mannerisms, the idiosyncrasies of the human kind.

I will choose to skip out the parts that would seem too mundane to write about and would rather hand the responsibility to somebody on Facebook who is probably high on the sugar in his Baileys. However, the morning began with some food that need not be talked of followed by a local train ride to a destination I had no clue of. Grant road was decided as that was the place where all my adventures usually began. This time the destination was Lamington road. The well acclaimed den of the taxidermists and surgeons of electronic products. As I descended on to the road, I expected to see a bulging cesspool of piracy and illegal consumption creeping up my legs, however I found no such sight. Maybe I had chosen to not dig deeper, maybe I did not want to know. I walked on down the road, hoping to find an adventure stuck between my toes.

As I was scavenging through my maps to find some interesting place to scurry off to, I lifted my head and to my left I laid my eyes upon what seemed to be an anomaly. Hidden behind some trees against the blazing sun stood a small theatre with a movie poster that was larger than the theatre itself. 'Imperial Cinema' read out the bright red letters with the chipped off paint and the movie that was playing was no recent blockbuster but one that had managed to survive the pages of time hidden in the secret compartments of cupboards and the hidden folders of our desktops. The film was called Tarzan but the main attraction of the movie was Lady Jane played by the evergreen Bo Derek with a wet shirt that had the right amount of visibility to clear the censors and attract the attention of wandering nobodys such as yours truly.

Usually I would rid my eyes off such profanities as I was too intellectual to stoop down to the underbelly of the society but that day, I was inclined for a reason nowhere close to Bo Derek or her assets. The name 'Imperial' got me interested as I had a slight feeling that there would be more to this place than just the sleaze painted over its walls.

As I crossed the road, I could see Bo Derek's shirt even more clearly now and I was wondering what in the world had being single brought me down to. If the world were to know about me visiting some B Grade movie theatre as a way to pass time during the weekends, I would surely have had a rough time explaining myself. But the mind had been made up, there was nothing more to be thought of as I approached the ticket counter and bought myself a 35 rupee ticket into a place which would welcome the lecherous eyes and the hollow hearts. But I was not too keen to enter into the dark abyss of the hall before doing some snooping around myself. As I walked past the hall, I noticed a staircase heading up on to a second floor. At first I was sceptical of being caught as I never liked being the one who would fall into trouble and have their parents come and bail them out of prison (For climbing up some stairs?!) but then I slowly managed to climb up only to find a urinal which had been built into a colonial structure that seemed to have been forgotten with the passing time. Heaps and heaps of garbage, beer bottles and what-not was all that I could see and I realised that negligence is a simple word to say but a much harder thing to clean up.

I realised that there was nothing much that I could do apart from walking into the hall and be at one with the scum of the society. As I pulled back a curtain which was followed by another curtain, I came face to face with the darkness and a stench that made me feel that I was now in a world where only few had taken up the courage to linger into. At first I found the first wooden (clean) chair that I could get my hands on and sat on it. The movie had just started and as my eyes got used to the darkness, I realised that there were only 5 to 6 more in the hall, scattered to different corners, having their own privacy to indulge into their desires. Bo Derek had just set foot on this mysterious land of tribals and had already made her appearance felt by slipping into the water and getting all wet. I decided to walk further ahead into the hall and get a better view of the entire space.

I noticed the balcony at the top and the louver windows by the sides and as my head arched towards the screen I realised this looked just like a stage that I had seen in the halls of Europe. I imagined a play being enacted where the screen stood today and the entire hall thriving with men in custom tailored suits and women in their gowns, excited to see their favourite actors perform under the lights. However, today it was just us few, in our second hand outfits and unkept beards. The ceiling fans up above me made me realise that I had not sat in a hall with fans ever before, it made me realise that I was in an unknown place, it was time to get back to my world.

On exiting the hall, I walked to an alternative entrance to this cinema which once might have been the only entrance. A majestic gate with the word 'Welcome' with two grand elephants guarding on both sides. The initials TMN inscribed which remain a mystery to me even today. I clicked a photograph of the entrance and as I write this, I come to find out 3 fun facts of this very place which I leave you with:

1. It is a 111 year old site that used to host orchestras at one point.
2. This Cinema was featured in the latest video of Coldplay - Hymn for the weekend
3. Today it's a very popular joint for Gays to get lucky.

More hymns for the weekend, coming soon!

I'm back

It isn't as hot as it is down in Mumbai but there is something about the summers here that bring me back to the road.

The sun isn't hurting me now, as a matter of fact it is hitting that part of my brain which is sending me back down memory lanes. Memory roads to be more specific. I pass tree after tree, field upon field as I keep driving in my car. The beads of sweat drift from my ear down my neck and into the abyss of my drenched shirt. I am trying to save on petrol owing to the large distance I am having to cover and more importantly, I have no intention of risking my 12 year old car in case it gives up on me on the excessive usage of the Air Conditioner. 2 years back I wasn't even here at this point. I was in the city of London exploring the city with my friends while everyone was crying in Delhi about how hot it had become. London was visited again nonetheless, her eyes and her sighs came with me this time. But now is not the time to go back to the nostalgia of Europe. Instead, it was time to remember what I was and a part of me still is.

Mumbai is a new experience altogether and I am by myself. But I had made this choice to venture out and see the city of dreams and become one with it. Having completed a little more than a year in this madness, I can safely say that I have done my fair share of exploration but I'm hungry for more.

I come to you in a completely new avatar now. In between I had been a man lost in love, broken in love and now detached from love. I have taken to new interests and new likes that have fuelled my passions of seeking the unknown. Earlier it was to feel the love of someone whom you are mad about, but that might have to wait. Maybe a decade or two. However, as I get back to my new found goal, (which keeps changing from time to time) it lies in doing what I will regret not doing as soon as I am endowed with some thing called responsibilities.

I have always been a fan of history and more of modern than ancient. I do not need to know what naked men and women used to dig and dance to for those times are gone and we are now children of our doings in the past, not in another life. 200 years from now is what interests me the most and the smallest of remnants that may exist of our past which I may still be able to find hidden in the present world. I am lucky to still be able to touch stones that were laid centuries back and feel gaps that may have been made by an artist from yesteryear.

Enchanted by a world with the same monuments, the same architecture, the same letters engraved in stone, only in a time which had lesser people and but grandeur plans for the days to come. I end this note with one of the many photographs I have started capturing of a time gone by but in some places, lives on in my heart.

I shall see you sooner than you can miss me.

The Long Road

She had always meant for it to last forever. He knew this was the right way to move ahead in life. It was the logical thing to do. She stretched her arm out to him and he thought that holding it would make her feel nice and so he did. The wind blew her hair over her face as she smiled through those strands. He was happy that she felt this way. Her hands were cold as ice and he always seemed to have the warm and soft ones. He let the ice of her hands melt on him, it was a feeling similar to that in his heart. He did not feel warm inside, he just felt, nothing. As the rains of Mumbai started to fall on them, he escorted her to the nearest taxi and bid her goodbye. As he turned around to walk back home, she had been watching him the entire time as the car moved away from him. Till he was nothing but a small speck in the distance, till a drop fell on it and it trailed the length of the window out of her sight.

Now, his hands were not as soft as before. He was struggling to keep them warm. He had his only thick jacket on him to keep him from freezing as he trudged along the path up the mountain. Surrounded by the thick trees of Transylvania, he stared up at the skies which had turned grey now. It would be snowing soon. He had grown a beard since then and shed a couple of kilos. As for her, he never saw her again after that rainy night and today he woke up to know that she was somebody else's. He let the cold numb his regret and the pain in his knees drown his sorrow. His solitude was his fate and he would embrace it. He had shared the laughs, the smiles, the arguments, the fights but there always seemed to be a part of him that was selfish. To live a life less ordinary is what he looked out for and today, no one knew where he was and what he was up to. Each day was another struggle to survive, a story to be told. From being the center of her world to be being ousted from it, he was now a renegade, a dark memory, a speck of dust on a photograph.

He was now ready, to erase her from his mind and as a last tribute to this solemn occasion, he shouts out her name, one last time. The air from his lungs comes out as a cloud as the scream echoes through the trees. Birds fly out in alarm as the words bounce off the Carpathians and back to his ears.

And then there was silence, as if someone had pressed the mute button. And in that silence, a flake of snow drops from the skies, beside the mountains, missing the trees and on his face. And this time, he felt warmth.