A Breezy Summer Evening

    I came over to CST today, to collect an album, engagement album. Since there was not much to do at work, I had the liberty of leaving while it was still bright outside, an event as rare as the blue moon sighting.
     April had just begun, and the temperature was starting to rise. Everytime, I hear temperature, I imagine a thermometer with mercury, silver colored, rising. The temperature was hitting 35 degree Celsius during the day and Mumbai is humid! The mercury, rising. But today it was cloudy, the temperature had dipped, and a soft breeze, that provided respite from the heat.
     I was tempted to go over to Marine Drive, so I did. And I sit here, enjoying the breeze, watching the sea waves crash into the walls on one side, and the crowd of locals and tourists, Indians and foreigners, on the other. The road reflecting the street lights, shining. The lights in the distance like diamonds against the coal black sky. The sea roaring on one side and the honking of fancy cars on the other. The smell of salt mixing with the smell of street side food, burning fuel and tyres.
     I switched the phone off, got my diary out, and let the blue ink run amock on the blank white pages. And my writing affair is never complete without a cup of tea by my side.
     As I sit here watching the entire scene unfurl, I feel good about a lot of things. I feel good to be where I am right now. Thoughts wash over me, they hit me like the sea waves hit the Marine Drive walls. Time tends to stop as I wade through a sea of memories. I think about 2016 til now. The overnight camp on that hill at Hampi, the scuba diving at Tarkarli, safaris and ghost towns of Rajasthan, and the sea food at Goa!
     I think about the 'what-ifs', staring into the distance, at infinity. I am not looking at anything in particular, just staring away. I wonder what if I had a guitar with me right now, the soft finger plucking would have been wonderful to go with the song that the sea sings.
     This entire setup gives me a feeling that I have escaped the 'routine'. And a realization of why the routine is necessary!
     I know this peace of mind because I have seen routine at my desk. I wouldn't know the calming effect of the waves if I hadn't seen the chaos of meeting deadlines. Only a caged bird would really know the joy of flying in the open skies. A gulp of water is the most soothing to someone who has walked miles in the scorching heat! How can you value a life that has never escaped death before..

     Only when you have hated the hot summer afternoons can you fall in love with a breezy summer evening.

The firsts!

Sometime back, I was having a conversation with a friend about firsts.. And someone once told me whatever you do for the first time stays with you forever.. 
Remember the time when you got your first bicycle? The first vacation with your friends? First time you got drunk? The first time you cooked? Maybe.. Maybe not.. But the feeling you get after doing something for the first time is unforgettable! Ask your parents about the first time you walked.. Your first day at school.. They WILL get nostalgic, trust me! Maybe they’ll have a picture of the little you standing, holding on to a wall!
What makes life dull is the routine.. Doing the same thing over and over again.. Try doing something different every day.. Something for the first time.. Don’t live a life based on a time table.. Go with the flow once..
It’s ok to bunk college once in a while.. Play hooky from work someday.. Miss your regular bus or train.. Make that journey that you always thought was crazy.. Take that route you always wanted to but you never could.. Eat to your heart’s content someday..
Or if you really wish to try, learn to play a musical instrument, learn a new language, get a hobby or maybe just.. LIVE!
You have a choice to live a life or wait for the end.. Forget the plans and let life take control once.. Give your crazy dreams a go! Take your chances!
So, what did you do for the first time today? 

The Life of a Nomad

I wish to be a nomad,
A vagabond, a traveller,
Take the unknown path,
Rest beneath the tree on the roadside,
And walk again..

I wish to be a nomad,
Make the journey, without a destination,
a journey without success, or failure,
A journey with joy and pain, laughter and tears..

I wish to be a nomad,
Travel through the sun, and storm,
Slow down, stop, fall asleep beneath the blanket of stars,
Feel the rain on my face, feel the wind ruffling my hair,
Stumble, fall, get up and move on..

I wish to be a nomad,
live in he moment, not in the future or past,
feel the sea waves on my feet,
wipe the sweat off my forehead,
And travel..

I wish to be a nomad,
where every moment is the next adventure,
where every moment is a new memory to cherish,
to breath the free air,
And wander till I breath..

The Fish Bowl

Was feeling lonely, sitting alone at home, when I saw the fishes in my fish bowl.. Multicolored, big, small, quick, slow.. Different fishes, but all in the same bowl.. It felt good to see them move around.. Feed them and see them run around, having fun… What purpose do they serve.. Just entertain the owner..?? Nah.. I dunno.. but there has to be some purpose for them..

Its then that my imagination caught up with me.. The world as a fish bowl and people as fishes.. Multicolored, big, small, quick, slow.. Different people, but all in the same world.. But what purpose is their life for.. What have they achieved till the end of their life?? How many people will remember them after their life??

A friend of mine once told me a very interesting story.. "There was a rich man who’s dog died.. And people came from all over the world to offer their condolences.. The man was sad but he also thought that he had a lot of well-wishers.. Then, one day that man died.. And only a handful of people came to offer their condolences.. and you know why.."

It’s just one life that we have.. and it’s either about the moments in your life.. or the life in each moment.. Don’t think what others think about you.. Coz, they really don’t… It’s up to you how you spend your life.. Coz, in the end, we are just fishes in a fish bowl.. Ready to be forgotten and replaced when dead..

The Sixth Sense

I was watching this movie called "The Beaver" the other day in which the lead character was so obsessed with a puppet in his hand that he had to cut his hand off to get rid of the puppet. It triggered off a series of thoughts in my mind - thoughts about me and the camera..

Recently, I was on a train coming back from work and I overheard a couple of guys appreciating the sunset. I could see what they were talking about. It was a very beautiful sight and you had to be there to feel it. But instead of being happy, I was annoyed. Annoyed because I did not have my camera to capture it.

And on watching the movie, I realized what I was actually getting into.

I was not feeling the moment.. I was just capturing it.. I was not looking at it now.. I saw it from the future.. I was not living the moment.. I was just turning it into a memory.. In the quest for pictures, I was loosing the "life" part of the moment..

A thin line separates passion and obsession.. And I was crossing that line.. I was so obsessed with pictures that the camera had become an extension of my body.. I barely left home without it, and if I did, I would keep looking at things and wonder "Damn! This would have made such a beautiful picture." I wandered off on my own not just because of the passion, but because of an obsession.. An obsession to show that I didn't need anyone around me.. So, although I got good pictures when I was on my own, the pictures are all that I had..

Just when I realized this, I set off from home leaving the camera behind, with just a pen and my diary, at 11 in the night.. And as I write this, I sit at a nearby garden, on the slightly wet grass, under a street light..

I realize that I have other senses besides sight.. I SMELL the fragrance of earth, wet by rains.. I HEAR a few people talking and someone was playing the guitar far away.. and a few people flaunting their vehicles by speeding them on the empty streets.. I FEEL the grass, soft beneath my barefeet.. I TASTE the tea at a streetside tea stall..

And I can SEE.. I see a full moon in the sky.. I see the flowers in the garden.. I see everything beautiful around me.. Though this time, I use my eyes and not the viewfinder..

In my obsession, I had forgotten about things that made me happy.. I frowned so hard in concentration that I had forgotten to smile.. I was left so overawed by something that could have made a great picture that I had forgotten to breath..

Its little things that teach a lot.. You can choose to learn or ignore.. There is no such thing as capturing a moment.. You just live a moment..

So, does that mean I give up photography? No.. I still love clicking pictures and it remains a passion.. But I have started learning to live a moment before I could remember it as a memory..

The sixth sense had struck me.. They call it... Common sense.

Eyes of the Beholder

There are many miracles happening in our daily life and we miss them just because we prioritize much minor things. And yet, we travel the world and lavishly spend time and money for witnessing the same miracles in a much more “sophisticated” environment. You actually miss the gold coz you were hunting for iron.

            It happened to me while I was wandering around on Brigade Road, on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. It was crowded as usual and I was searching for something significant among the crowd thinking about the pictures I could get of the beautiful buildings or even of Namma metro. While walking, I saw this guy taking pictures of a street-side beggar. Without throwing a second glance, I kept walking. But something about the first look at the “beggar” forced me to look back. On the second glance, I noticed that he was no beggar at all. He was an artist. He was painting. I was in awe of this person who was actually much more talented than most of the people in the crowd. And yet, he was there, sitting on the ground, working with so much ease as if he were having a cup of coffee sitting at home.

            I went back to have a look at his work and was awed by what I saw. Needless to say, the paintings were beautiful. I sat down next to him to have a bit of a chat. He said he only spoke Kannada. His name, as I figured out with my broken Kannada, was Manju. And he was painting for the past 15 years just like that, sitting on the streets. I got a few pictures of him and of his paintings.

But the most amazing thing about Manju was he was hit by polio on both his hands and legs and he used to paint using only his toes!!! And still, he managed to paint better than most of us could ever do using our hands. He sold his paintings at just Rs. 25 per painting, and there were people who would throw down some cash thinking he is just another beggar. He picked up the cash carefully, but effortlessly, using his toes and put it in a small tethered bag. I observed him and his work for a while, till a small crowd started to gather around us. I took the cue, said a small good-bye which he returned with a smile on his face. I left the place with my mind full of thought about this man.

            We crib about the smallest of problems we face. How much can we learn from this man! He has to fight daily to survive, and he does.

           We might come across so many such people who have to fight, not to earn a living, but to be alive. However, we ignore these people coz they don’t publicize their problems and we do not understand the language of silence.

Life throws challenges on every path. It’s up to you to take it as an obstacle or an opportunity.

"Ek nayi raah, ek dastaan hai zindagi,

Har pal ek naya maqam hai zindagi,

Ladkhadakar uthna seekhaati hai yeh,

Ladkhadakar sambhalneka naam hai zindagi,

Raahein ajnabee, humsafar gair hai yaha,

Har kadam ek naya imtehaan hai zindagi,

Tum chalo to raahein khud hi ban jaati hai,

In raahon par chalne ka naam hai zindagi,

Ek pal pyaas to ek pal jaam hai zindagi,

Har pal ek naya maqam hai zindagi.. "

A Memory Called Bangalore (Bengaluru)

I have been trying to write this for a long time now.. It has been difficult to come back home, knowing that I will be missing a lot of things in Bangalore. All the crazy acts, all the stupidity, the smiles, the tears.. They are all a part of this beautiful memory.. A memory called Bangalore..

The feeling of leaving Bangalore did not sink in till I was alone in the bus, travelling back to Mumbai.. I sat there, on my own, looking at the raindrops sliding down the bus window, but not really paying attention to them.. I was using the windows as a screen to play the slideshow of pictures of the two years gone by.. The window started getting blurred and I realized that it was not the raindrops outside blurring my vision, but the tears in my eyes were.. The feeling of jumping off the bus and running back 'home' was so overwhelming.. I felt like I had just woken up from a beautiful dream.. 

I realized that sometimes, it feels good to keep dreaming 'coz if the dream comes true, you don't have anything to dream about.. 

I was in love with this city which had given me the best years of my life.. 

I learnt a lot from Bangalore.. Everything from the daily chores to new languages, photography to travelling, getting along with the crowd to standing out of it and playing the violin and the guitar.. 

How I miss the tea at 3 AM on the terrace, walking on the streets at 1 am singing at the top of my voice and so many acts of craziness.. 

So many little crazy dreams were fulfilled in these two years.. Jumping off the train at an unknown place, dancing on the streets, travelling in a forklift are just a few... 

And finally, the best of the lot were the friends that I made in Bangalore, responsible for making these two years the best of my life.. I won't like to write down the names coz I am afraid I might miss out someone.. You taught me to say 'yes' to the moment and made me realize that I might not be able to do it again!!!

But all along, I knew at the back of my mind that I had to come back.. Someday.. 

The path was always there.. It was up to me to take it or leave it.. It was just like the time when I had to come to Bangalore.. I was not strong enough to start the journey.. But I got stronger as I started the journey.. 

I will miss this place.. I will miss my friends.. I will miss this memory.. A memory called Bangalore