The Non-Facebook Post #124

Musings on a lazy Sunday afternoon warmed by a mild Fall sun and laced with whiffs of fragrant patchouli.

Who knew that patchouli is so close in smell to betel leaf - paan - that was one of Dad's favourite 'snacks' (for lack of a better word). Lazy Sun, chirping birds, traffic drone and patchouli - all putting me in a mood of days past. Days of similar sunny afternoons in Dad's hometown chewing family-made 'saada pan' after a family meal, days of glorious Hyderabadi shaadis when a royal dinner was capped off by clamour to lay hands on the much-desired 'digestif'. Days, that through the lens of time, seem happy, care-free and what life should be.

But that's why too the grass always seems greener elsewhere. There was a random quote somewhere that said the grass is green where you water it.

And so, let's water!

The Non-Facebook Post #123

Aaj phir likhne ki tamanna hai.

Of late, writing is turning out to be a special occasion in my life. An event to be celebrated.

That tapestry of sunset hues can put you in a mood of wonderful reflection.

Sometimes, it serves you best to just stare at the gorgeous colours, letting them lead your thoughts where they will. 

Sometimes, when you can longer make sense of what you want out of life or where you want it to head, it's relieving to sigh and let out, "I don't know"... "I don't know what I want. I don't know what will make me happy. I just don't know." Abandon the planning and the strategy-making and the constant forward-sprinting - actually, a headless chicken run describes it best. Just stand still. Take it in. And be.

And hope that the answers come to you.

In the meanwhile, write. Write to drown out the noise and the numerous distractions, symptoms of the impatient mind and the restless heart.

Breathe, write.

The Non-Facebook Post #122

'Yun to akela bhi askar gir ke sambhal sakta hun main,
Tum jo pakad lo haath mera, duniya badal sakta hun main...'

'Tera nazaara milaa, roshan sitaara mila,
Taqdeer ki kashtiyon ko kinaara mila...'

The Non-Facebook Post #121

There once was:

Friday, 1 May 2015

The Non-Facebook Post #79

" On soft Spring nights I'll stand in the yard under the stars - Something good will come out of all things yet - And it will be golden and eternal just like that - There's no need to say another word." - Jack Kerouac

We'll walk the warm Spring nights, under an inky black sky, under the stars. And it will be you and I, in a dream. Through a  grassy, rocky meadow enveloped in a delicious darkness. A darkness that needs no words, because a touch is all that's needed. And this will be goodness, golden and etetnal. You and I. In a dream.

Thank God for Kerouac!

"Writing has given me a space to express my innocence. No other world has any use for it." - Natasha Badhwar.

Thank God for Badhwar!

And now there also is:

We'll gaze out, on warm Summer nights, across the valley with flickering city lights,  at the peaks of mountains far in the distance rising majestically and fading in a twilit shimmer.  And it will, once again, be you and I. Gazing softly into the calm evening. And it will be goodness, golden and eternal. You and I. In yet another dream. 

The Non-Facebook Post #121

There once was:

Friday, 1 May 2015

The Non-Facebook Post #79

" On soft Spring nights I'll stand in the yard under the stars - Something good will come out of all things yet - And it will be golden and eternal just like that - There's no need to say another word." - Jack Kerouac

We'll walk the warm Spring nights, under an inky black sky, under the stars. And it will be you and I, in a dream. Through a  grassy, rocky meadow enveloped in a delicious darkness. A darkness that needs no words, because a touch is all that's needed. And this will be goodness, golden and etetnal. You and I. In a dream.

Thank God for Kerouac!

"Writing has given me a space to express my innocence. No other world has any use for it." - Natasha Badhwar.

Thank God for Badhwar!

And now there also is:

We'll gaze out, on warm Summer nights, across the valley with flickering city lights,  at the peaks of mountains far in the distance rising majestically and fading in a twilit shimmer.  And it will, once again, be you and I. Gazing softly into the calm evening. And it will be goodness, golden and eternal. You and I. In yet another dream. 

The Non-Facebook Post #120

I need to write. I need to write when the cacophony of my thoughts whirring about in my head gets deafening. I need to write when the Creative Genius (ala Elizabeth Gilbert's talk) swoops in on me for a fleeting visit. I need to write when I need to think straight - to organize my thoughts, line them up and consider each turn by turn.

It's not you, it's Murphy - you only begin seeing the value of stuff when you no longer have it or have access to it. Back in the day, walking to the grocery lady's corner outdoor stall, walking to the bus stop to hop onto a bus that could connect you to practically any urban location in the city, walking to the neighbour's home were all precisely what I didn't want. It was a yearning for car ownership and driving abilities.
Now, I would happily give up car ownership to be in a place that afforded mass-transit connectivity.

That's just one of the realizing-I-wanted-it-after-I-lost-it instances. There are so many more - things, places, people. I forget half of them until life reminds me of one of them. There are also those that are too personal and too hurtful to willingly want to remember.

I haven't written in a very long time. It takes inspiration to want to write. It also takes courage to want to write and bare once more the soul behind your person. And to accept the dichotomy that you're writing for yourself as well as for another to read. It's meditation and performance all at the same time.

There. It all comes down to Rilke's 'living in the questions' but also some Zen 'living in the now.'

Like Kerouac always guides me, "if you don't say what you want, what is the sense of writing?" I've said all I want, for now.