Diwali:

I stand in my balcony and look down at the celebration of the festival of light and sound, with a greater emphasis on the later. I stand and cringe in apprehension as another cracker is about to fulfill its destiny.

What I see is not a group of kids none of whose names I know.. What I see is like a flashback of my own days. I am none of them, yet all of them at the same time.

It’s amazing this amazing festival has lost none of its holds in the years that have gone by.

Not much seems to have change, except of course the variety and “loudness” of the fire crackers. The groupings of kids are still the same. The youngest, along with their dads, while their mom’s look apprehensively at the whole thing from their balconies.

The slightly elder one, are in transition, so they want their dad’s support only in the form of their presence, and do not want them to fuss over them, because that would ruin their “reputation”. Even their dad’s are in transition, the expression on their face varies from concern to proud look, depending on the distance of their kids from the crackers.

The next group are completely on their own, their dad’s are no longer worried about them, their mom’s however still sneak in a quick peek from the balcony… that’s how mom’s are I guess.

Sorry forgot to mention the about the grouper, which is slightly younger than the youngest, well they just run back and forth with either their dad or elder sibling burst the crackers..

At one layer there is hardly any similarity in the days from my childhood and now, yet in another it’s as if nothing has changed.

One thing that has changed though is that somehow, the sounds of firecrackers have become noise from what they used to be to my ears.. music.

With that thought I make my way back to the balcony to breathe in smell in the air which can best be described as an “aftertaste” of crackers’ bursting or may be just as the smell form my “childhood”…

Entering a new phase of my life. There are lots of things that I am expecting from this phase of my life. One of the most critical though is the search to know myself… a little better at least

For most of my growing up years, this quest did not even feature in my to do list, but lately this question has been bothering me.

Not really sure why, may be because lately haven’t been myself.

What do you do when you have to choose between the people you love and yourself? Theoretically one does not choose between options, rather the choice is of the “results” that the decision will lead to.

And it is this fact that makes this choice a difficult, because irrespective of what you choose, you still lose. Why? Well because in this decision you either end up hurting or hating yourself.

If you choose yourself, sooner or later you’ll hate yourself for being selfish, and on the flip side you’ll end up hurting yourself. But if you choose, the one’s you love, going ahead you could have the fulfilling experience of seeing them happy..

That’s why these decisions are though, well I guess that’s the underlying characteristics of decisions: they are though.. I mean, they wouldn’t be allowed to hold on to their “qualifications” of being “decisions” if they weren’t tough… guess we all have to do what we are meant to do.

I hope I am making the right choices…

Memories…

There is something strange about memories, not all but those which you share with others. When you have a memory of the times that you have spent with another person… you tend to cherish these only as long as present relationship is good..

The day the current state of the relationship take a wrong turn, you are suddenly left with lot of memory which becomes a burden.

What is weird is that the past is known to have its impact on the future, which is realized when the future turns into present. (read again, it does make sense J )

But imagine, the present making an impact on the past… to make it more comical or dramatic (take your pick).. in absolute terms the present, is actually the future when the point of reference is the past.

So a future event may have enough impact radius to affect the past.. think about it…

But strange as things are.. it can only impact it in a bad manner… not sure whether that is a design issue, or just the problem of the actors within..

Because suddenly one of our relationship becomes valuable, it somehow fails to sweeten the memories that we might carry from the past of this relationship.

I have no idea whether am writing utter nonsense, or have I never made more sense.

The problem lies in constraint of not having enough guts to write the root of the thought, because I may not be ready to face the clear shape of this vague thought.. A thought that I want to run away from, at least till am ready to face it.

Sundays

Over the years Sundays have always been very different. There is an entire album memories attached to Sundays. From “jungle jungle phul khila hai” to sleeping till 1 pm and getting up only because the previous week’s clothes were screaming for a wash. From waiting the entire week for the special Sunday lunch to having wada pao (no one served lunch by the time we walked out of home)…

From sitting till late night to finish homework to watching late night movies and then catching the first train for lonavala to have tea,,,

They have all been very different yet very similar… “same difference” as one of my friend would put it..

Today is another Sunday, but there is something different about this one.. something is urging me to flip through the dust laden yet fresh memories of my childhood..

Those Sundays were different, they were special and precious.. and I always thought it was because they were so “eventful”..

Mornings usually meant going to get breakfast with dad,  kachori, aloo ki sabzi with jalibi ; so sweet that I can still taste them and the colour seemed like someone had spilled water on a water paint of a sunset..

After breakfast a “grueling” Sunday awaited me.. it would generally consist of a thorough cleaning of the inverter batteries.. The simple task of cleaning them made me so “responsible” and left me feeling good if at the end of it dad acknowledged it is as a good job..

This would generally lead to dad and me spending good amount of time tending to the gardens (flower in the front and vegetables at the back)..

I have never found that kind of pleasure in working and working hard… since then.. there was something about those hours in the sun, something about seeing the flowers bloom.. something about matching the amount of work dad put in.. something about that Sunday “job” satisfaction that an air conditioned office, laptop and salary on the last working day of every the month have never been able to match since..

Any way the gardening stint usually led into a break (spelt “cricket”) for me when dad made his way to cook the “special” mutton curry.. I just need to close my eyes and I can still feel the aroma making me breath deep to take in the most that I could of that “taste”…

The lunch would give away to a very deserving siesta.. Evenings would generally be spent on shopping for the coming week…

I really miss those Sunday’s today… there was something in those Sunday’s that I can no longer replicate.. Today when I look back.. there was actually only one thing special about those Sundays…just one..

I got to spend an entire day with dad… yes that was all that turned those “days” into “Sundays”…

The next morning..

The night would give in to the daybreak as usual..

The birds would get out of their slumber with their chirps as usual

The kids would again be coaxed on their way to school as usual

The milk man would keep the milk in the carry bag hanging from my door as usual

The news paper guy will slide in the news paper under the door as usual

The house help would ring the door bell at precisely 8am as usual

The old couple will be going for their morning walk (if the rains don’t play spoilsport) as usual

The “gang” of car washers will go around doing their job as usual

Life will go on as usual..

But things will never be the same ever again… 

just anoter day...

Have you ever tried to hold on to a cube of ice for long? Do you know what happens? (ya.. apart from it melting..)

Well it leaves your palm feeling numb..

Numb is described as (among other synonyms) “unfeeling”... weird isn’t it, that a “feeling” is described as “lack of feeling”

I feel like I have been hugged by a giant snowman… and once the initial chill passed away I was just left feeling… numb… ya I guess that’s the closest that I’ll ever get to describing the feeling of being empty or hollow…

It’s as if you have been robbed of the ability of feeling anything.

When I was young I had once broken my arm and I had to been given anesthesia before it could be straightened out. Just before passing out, I remember looking at my arm, I knew it was paining but I couldn’t feel anything..

It’s very close to that, just that when I couldn’t feel my arm it left me feeling relieved, but right now it is this feeling of numbness that is hurting the most.

It’s weird, how it I find it difficult to use my own bag of words to describe my own feelings..

So much for my attempt to be positive… but yes I have always believed it to be better to face your feelings than delude yourself in trying to see the positive side of things and moving on..

It like when you get hurt, if you haven’t felt the pain in its completeness and try moving on ignoring it, it always returns to hurt even more..

The one thing that I have always tired is to be true to myself, except now, when I often find myself lying to me..

I really want to be myself again…