Homecoming

So my blog seems to be dying.
But it's not, of course.
It is a part of me, and although parts of one's being can often die, my blog is not.
Not yet, at least. It is just resting more than usual.
Just like I am - at home.
Have you ever wondered what constitutes 'home'?
Is it the place you were born? Or lived all your life? The place where your parents stay? Or the place you feel happiest and most at ease?
Home can perhaps hold different meanings for different people.
And if you're like me and have moved home a lot, the definition can cease to hold the intrinsic value that it is assumed to.

Anyways, for the time being, home to me means Ahmedabad, the place I was born in but grew up away from. The city that is markedly bustling, noisy, industrial, yet has a distinct small-town pace and feel to it. The haven which taught me to love but not how to stop.

Home is the independent bungalow with pale-lilac walls that stands in a green but dusty neighbourhood, it is the bedroom with the many windows and bright lights where I sit reading or writing late into the night.

It is the sound of pressure cooker whistles going off in our own and neighbours' kitchens every evening, and the racket that's stirred up by the boisterous kids playing gully cricket or badminton or chor-police out on the narrow streets.

It is the periodic call of the Muezzins from the many nearby mosques, five times a day, and the yells of the mothers urging their kids to stop playing and attend prayers instead.

It is the sound of the television screening the same old hackneyed serials the nation is hooked to or the radio belting out the latest crass song from another unimaginative offering from Bollywood.

It is the smell of incense that hangs thick in the air, mingling with the flavors that emanate from the delicious somethings sizzling on the gas cooker in the forever-warm kitchen. And it is the din and buzz of    two-wheelers and auto rickshaws and hawkers who come vending their wares door-to-door, day in day out.

It is the listless lethargy that refuses to leave no matter how much I try to focus on constructive tasks, and the solid, peaceful slumber that overcomes the minute I close my eyes every night, even though I am hardly tired.

It is a state of utter relaxation, of complete comfort, of freedom from even the most routine concerns. Home, it is heaven. Or something very much like it.

When I see their happy faces smiling back at me

I know there's no greater feeling than the love of family.

Where can you go? When the world don't treat you right? 

The answer is home. That's the one place that you find...

7th Heaven....

Blowing Out the Candles

Do you know where the tradition of blowing candles on your birthday came from?

Apparently, from the early Greeks, who used to place lit candles on cakes to make them glow like the moon. The cake was then taken to the temple of Artemis, goddess of Moon. Some scholars say that candles were placed on the cake because people believe that the smoke of the candle carried their wishes and prayers to Gods who lived in the skies. Others believe that the custom originated in Germany where people used to place a large candle in the centre of the cake to symbolize ‘the light of life’. It is believed that blowing out all candles in one breath means the wish will come true and the person will enjoy good luck in the coming year. (-from Wikipedia)

Today is my birthday and I think I have officially reached an age where I don’t want to announce to the world how old I am. (though I’m still in early twenties, thank god!) This birthday, I feel like I have everything I want. So I just asked God to maintain the status quo. For the time being, at least, because as we all know, things eventually do change, no matter what. I feel so content to be studying something I’m really enjoying, to have wonderful friends (old and new) and a feeling that all my dreams are going to come true! I feel the past year has been my most productive in a while. I worked a lot, had a lot of fun too, learned a lot and grew as a person. but I want this coming year to be even more fruitful. I have a LOT in mind that I want to accomplish and I guess the only thing I can ask God today is to give me the capability and resources to meet my goals. And of course the love and support of all the great people I’m blessed with.

Today was definitely one of my best birthdays ever. It started with cake-cutting at midnight with friends and classmates, followed by a trip to a place nearby where we had bread omelet and chai. We returned and tried to study but gave up, and my two friends gifted me a watch (because I lost my old one, remember?) - how sweet is that?!

And today morning, two other friends who are day scholars (they don't live in the hostel) gave me a real surprise by coming to wish me, with DELICIOUS chocolate pastry and the best gift I can ever receive - a BOOK. (The Winner Stands Alone by Paulo Coelho - which I've been wanting to read foreverrrrr!)  Excuse those extra 'r's, I'm just so excited and so happy!!

As I've said above, my only wish to God is that he maintains the status quo in my life, and along with that, there is a friend of mine who's facing a bit of a serious problem, so all I hope for is that he can somehow resolve that.

Until next time, cheers to the world and Happy Birthday to me!

November Rain

We sit perched upon the rocks: two girls, one tall, the other not so much. The sky overhead is a uniform gray, and the lake before us, a rippling sheet of steel.
The little drops of early morning drizzle tickle my skin as they fall in a steady stream, and the wind is cold on my cheeks and nose and finger tips.
We talk of life and love, exchanging stories, experiences, thoughts. And the cameras we had brought along - to have something to do - lie forgotten as a new friendship blossoms.
Perhaps this strange weather marks a beginning of sorts:  November rain, something I'm going to remember.

"...Till it's gone"

How do material objects come to hold emotional value?

I have never really contemplated this much, until today, when I lost a very prized possession.

My one and only 'daily-wear' watch which I'd had for so long that I don't remember exactly when I bought it.

It was either in the year 2000 or 2003, when I had come to India on a holiday and my grandma came along with my mother and I when we went shopping.

It was one of the first ones I tried and I loved it instantly. It had roman numerals on an oval face lined in silver and a dainty black strap that looked nice on my slender, snow-white wrist. In the years of owning it, not a single scratch had appeared on the watch face, and I'd only had to get the strap replaced recently because the original one wore out.

It was not a very expensive watch, but then, it wasn't exactly cheap either. Moreover, I'd worn it almost every day for so many years, so some kind of strange intimate relationship seems to have formed between us without me even realizing. I never felt particularly attached to it, or took any extra care of it, but now that it's gone, I just wish I'd been more careful and not lost it. I remember taking it off to fiddle with it like I often do, but today, I guess I was just somewhat absent minded and dropped it somewhere. Worse, I didn't even realize it was gone until perhaps an hour later.

I don't have another watch with me at hostel - somehow, I'd never anticipated needing an extra one - I'd come to rely so much on that single piece of jewellery, thinking it would be always be the only thing I would wear on my left hand. And I'm the kind of person who feels insecure when I can't check the time at periodic intervals. Of course, there's always my cell phone but I'm much too used to checking my wrist. And it's sad to know that now, for days, perhaps weeks to come, I'm going to unconsciously check for the time and not find it.

I could of course just get another watch, but I don't want one. I just want my old one back, though of course I'm never going to find it. I hate to think of it lying somewhere, abandoned, unnoticed, lost. Sigh.

A few months ago, I'd lost another piece of special jewellery - a bracelet of purple stones which my dad had brought from Cyprus. It was the most beautiful bracelet I owned and I only wore it on special occasions until one day, when I was packing to move to Hyderabad, I just couldn't find it anywhere. Losing that was not as painful, perhaps because I have a slight bit of hope that I'll find it somewhere in the house. But losing my watch is like losing a teeny bit of myself. I know it's not that big a deal - it's just a simple accessory that can be replaced easily - but like I already said, some kind of emotional bond seems to have formed between us which I just can't fathom.

It makes me think of how this is perhaps true of our relationships with people too. Sometimes, bonds form which we have no idea about until they are broken or lost and can never be regained. And although it is hard at first, we eventually learn to accept and live with it. It's as if a small phase of life or a chapter in our story comes to an end and we simply have to move ahead for there is no other option. Perhaps we lose people and things because we are simply meant to, for reasons unknown. Each one of them are eventually replaced by others and all that remains of them is a memory, sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet.

Once. Again.

*The 'she' in the post below does NOT refer to me! 

It had been so long since she'd felt like this.
Like she was flying, as cliched as that sounds.
Funny how she was ignoring the danger she knew all too well could - and would - come with soaring at this height and this speed and in this manner.
A manner of pure, blinding, unadulterated exhilaration.

It was all so familiar:  the flutter in her tummy when he walked past, the way her heart always skipped a beat when she set eyes on him, a million times a day; the smile that never left her face as she thought of him and talked about him - in that awe-struck (or love-struck?) way. It was all just so familiar. The anticipation, the hesitation, the frustration, the giddiness, the ups and downs her mind reeled in as he began to occupy its crevices, creeping into her thoughts every minute of every day.

She knew where she was headed, she knew it so well. This was just the high before the fall. And when the fall would eventually come, it wasn't going to be a pretty sight. Not at all. She wanted to stop, to hit the brakes on the hurtling roller-coaster ride her heart had set off on. But it was already too late; she had lost all control, and that too, willingly. As if she actually wanted to experience the whole damn thing all over again. And all she could tell herself now was one line from a song she had recently heard:

Dil, sambhal ja zara... 
phir mohabbat karne chala hai tu.  

Take care, dear heart, 

you're about to love again.