I have lost the status of a ‘blogger’.

I was busy becoming other things.

I am contributing to my blog after 6 months. And in these 6 months I learnt a lot. I moved to a new place. I am solely responsible for a lot of things. Life is tough and I am doing a lot that I don’t like. The protective shell is missing. I make all decisions on my own.

But all in all…it’s a lot of fun.

I am in the oil rich Abu Dhabi in UAE. It’s a nice place but not one of those places where you will really long to be. For independent women, this place doesn’t fail to shock. Though it’s a lot safe than Delhi but with undercurrents of women are no one. The climate…well, May to September are the months that they don’t fail to smother you. It’s a place that is severed from the rest of the world in a lot of ways. No recession or boom, no food crisis or any other crisis, really make a difference here.

Searching for work these days. Looks like nationality and gender make a lot of difference than the capability. But then I believe in myself. I liked when someone asked me in an interview recently; if I am searching for a job or career. I answered, Career, definitely.

I am learning so much.

I have experienced moments of passion…extreme passion. Moments that I was driven by the extreme urge to write. The words just flowed, thoughts came at a lightening speed and there, I had a creation waiting for my silent celebration. There are times when I so strongly feel about something (or something not) and rest only after changing my thoughts to my own words. Some songs drive me to a new high. It is when my earphones feed me with a favourite song at a deafening volume that renders oblivion to even a blast outside or any thoughts. It is bliss and nothing else. I wonder what is the state of mind of great creators while making something extraordinary... Are they in a trance while creating something that induces bliss to a person they know not? Do they experience some magical moment? Do I have to be in a trance to create something extraordinary…someday?

Yesterday, today and maybe the day after,

The same road travelled only to be travelled again,

The same words sounding hollow only to sound more hollow,

The same rhythm dying with the beats amiss,

The fake smile widening in an empty stretch,

The canvas with colours nowhere in sight,

Is it the end or the indication of a beginning new,

The free spirit sits at a pavement not far from home,

Deciding whether to sit just some more,

Or take the imperfect road tomorrow that leads don’t know where. 

After having read a few loud proclamations of true relations on public domains, I was thinking and, more so, ready to write a new blog. Having believed in subtlety all my life, I have detested, most of all, public declaration or display of affection. I know a lot of people will not ditto my opinion as it is something symbolic of closeness in a relation. Closeness in a relation by publicising it? Pardon me, but I do not agree. I think, shout you must to bring notice to something that you want to prove exists. I have valued the silence of understanding and the long conversation of unspoken words that possibly comes with a mature relation (not subject to time but depth).

The satisfaction after understanding the small grin or the message conveyed with an eye contact is so much more mystifying than hours of meaningless conversation that deludes a lot of people with the thought of sharing an ideal relation. Communication of the mind is rather hard to achieve, comes seldom but comes in relations with a deeper essence and that is only and only my opinion. But thank goodness, relations that matter to me are not expected to be publicised to prove the depth.

They just know it and I feel so contented.      

I created the survivor once,

In a past long gone in oblivion,

I wish to create again,

I am searching everywhere with some urgency,

Are the strings seducing me to their notes?

Is the pencil begging me to unite it with the paper?

Are the words challenging me to new ambits?

A thought of creation lost in the mind,

A thought wasted before even being heard,

I am searching everywhere with some urgency.

Music has an inexplicable power. It can induce memories, regulate moods and totally hypnotize the feet. I wonder if music instruments and/or voices are deliberately designed with a psychological apparatus that makes the mind think in the direction that it does not when ‘music-less’. Like I, under no circumstance, fail to remember college while hearing ‘Summer of ‘69’. The lyrics, obviously, reminiscent. ‘Bure bure’ reminds me of the vamps. Not sure how the lyrics relate but it makes me remember all the mall expeditions that would end in no particular purchase but a couple of free gifts, cold mornings with steaming coffee on the chilling staircase and complaining of the cold (needless to say the coffee as well), indulgent feasts and drinks ending in a lot of guilt and days of ‘healthy food’ that followed and the ever pervasive …well, what can I say - ‘some discussions of grave importance’ .  

Songs of separation and undying love, strangely but truly, make me remember mom. Busy Wednesday mornings for elaborate planning of the essential weekend movie (and sometimes movies if dad did not want us around on Sundays) with post movie cappuccino and a brown bread sandwich that we shared. Often giving the longing look to the walnut brownie bathed in chocolate sauce and vanilla ice cream that brutally soothed our neighbour’s taste buds and left us only pining. Hours of some very ‘interesting’ discussions on everything and anything.

Lively, beatsy, super hypersonic and euphoric songs is undoubtedly Sam. Just like him, reminds me of high spirits, excitement, vigour, life and haste. This is exactly the reason a combination of Jagjit Singh and Sam gives me indigestion (it is thankfully seldom). But getting over the indigestion, this particular song that reminds me of my first ever bike ride. Before I could even adjust to the idea of sitting on the backseat, the wind was blowing strong with sheer verve forcing its way in each of my cells that otherwise were too lazy to take notice of anything around. The boisterous beats remind me each time to be more risk taking and just go with the flow and simply live.

Music…I like mine served blaring and the memories flow.                   

I am what I am and nothing can change me from that,

Life is changing and it will change on just like that,

People came and went while some lingered on,

Time is running to an unknown destiny that is unspecified,

Relations pass through turbulence ending in no particular sign,

I take a journey within to make a journey out more meaningful,

It begins and ends with questions and some unquestioned answers,

But it does not change anything for the stubborn me,

I am what I am and nothing can change me from that.

It was a time not so long ago from now. She lived in a house that was small but made her feel totally comfortable. Whether it was the weariness of the day or the terrible noise of the world outside, her house opened for her the doors to blissful peace. The house was a respite, each day, nestled away in the cosy corner of the scantily filled street 99. 

Her name is not important, her thoughts are. 

Once, while sipping her favourite frothy coffee, she heard some murmuring. With awe and some anger, she saw some ants have a private meeting on the little table that held a lampshade. Failing the temptation to eavesdrop, she heard the ants’ plan to move to the neighbouring house. She was even more angered to hear the reason. The ants were unhappy about the lack of space in her house and the absence of carelessly left food; whatever little found did not suffice their taste buds. The rooms were cluttered with pieces of furniture that seemed older than even the ant civilization. The floors were far too old and a rough terrain for their ant womenfolk.  

The peace of her world was crumbling. She was disturbed to hear such remarks for the place that brought the only peace she had known. She decided to ignore the insignificant ants and nothing let her peace disturb.

The next day, the moon, the sun and the earth did not falter from their routine. After a regular day, she was happy to finally return to her peace (and this time without the ants). She made herself a large cup of steaming coffee and walked towards her living room.

Thud!

Her knee had hit the small wooden chair that brought memories of her childhood. It fell on the uneven floor and split into several irreparable pieces. She looked at it and let out a sigh and remembered what the ants had said about her old furniture and the rough floors. She tried to shun away upsetting thoughts from her mind. Collecting her coffee and the new novel ‘I am happy’, she placed herself on the comfortable couch. From left to right and right to left. The couch seemed unbelievably uncomfortable today. She adjusted the cushion but comfort was nowhere near. Perhaps, it’s the table or the wrong positioning of the couch. She readjusted and thereafter she readjusted each thing in her house, as if she had dropped peace in some hideous corner that would be restored if she readjusted everything. 

No information is better than information, sometimes.

Only if she hadn’t heard the ants.    

A journey of time is far and sometimes near,

A journey of time taken courageously and often with fear,

A journey that promises not to end one day,

A journey that holds no promises to bring any peace or gay.

The journey of time is within yourself, your true self.

A journey of time is beyond the understanding of the shallow,

A journey of time is untouched by those, whose soul is hollow,

A journey that is seen and more so experienced by few,

A journey to cleanse the spirit and breathe into it a life anew.

The journey of time is within yourself, your true self.

A journey of time is waiting for you and perhaps me,

A journey of time is waiting for your touch and feel,

A journey that will give no answers or unlock hidden doors,

A journey that will never transport you to magical moors.

Yet it is the divine journey of time within yourself, your true self.

Actors: Just about anyone

Time: Not accounted for

Act 1, Scene 1

No one - So what are my lines? How much stage time do I get? Hell, I don’t even know what I am supposed to do.

Everyone – Nothing great. Just do as I say. Think of your time as a pie.

No one – Uh..huh

Everyone - Think there are many sharers of that pie. Evaluate each sharer’s expectation as a knife.   

No one – This sounds complex.

Everyone – So who said it was easy?

No one – Ok. Go on.

Everyone – So now as everyone cuts through the pie, you take control of the share.

No one- Isn’t that unfair? Everyone might just want more.

Everyone – Shut up and just do what I say. Now you have this limited pie and knives are too many and each one must have a share. So wake up than just yawning away. Share, share the pie with all.

No one – What about my soul? It is starving for some share.

Everyone ignores.

Act 1, Scene 2

No one (smiling more than required) – Here take this piece of pie. It is good and and it is enough, trust you me.

Everyone (whispering) – No, do better. Do better…will you?

Have you experienced climbing a rocky mountain? Thorns hidden maliciously within the innocent looking pebbles. Wind, conspiringly, blowing against you with a vicious force like never before. Wilted leaves and dust blinding you to watch even your next step. You hear discouraging harsh voices from all directions, luring you down to the secure refuge of the ground. Your legs are giving up and the cruel scratches of your hands are bleeding profusely.

Have you experienced anything like this before?

Each of us experiences something like this. Just that the force is different but experience, nonetheless, the same.

I experienced.

I move on…

The world is not enough for my thoughts,

Beyond a million miles and farther,

Questions staring back at the smiling face,

But I walk the known road that others walk everyday,

Why then these legs stammer and hands tremble,

I look at them, who walk with perfect poise,

And then I block my thoughts and regain the pace,

The question haunts...an unknown road, is it anywhere there?

Beyond a million miles and maybe farther...

A place where I belong,

Trying to hear the silent song,

An identity that was mine,

Slipping itself in the farce of time,

My place that was called the space,

Surviving now with a desolated face,

The sand is slipping out fast,

Another qualm seems to last,

The stage is set for Survivor’s survival,

‘The Garden of Joy’ was a delight of the small town. Spread in beds of roses, jasmine and tulips, the luscious colors never failed to bring awe to its visitors. The evenings transformed the garden to sometimes a playground and at other times a battleground. The cackle of children and their silly quarrels, the flowers impregnated with lush...all making ‘The Garden of Joy’ always a source of rejuvenation for ever visitor.

The sun was particularly harsh the day the new gardener, Stub, came. None anticipated that it would change the fate of ‘The Garden of Joy’. Stub had a peculiar dislike to butterflies. He just did not like them for any particular reason. So, he squashed all the colorful butterflies that had adorned ‘The Garden of Joy’. The lack of some unwanted creatures encouraged Stub to eradicate the others. The over usage of pesticides, insecticides and repellents was making the garden look more like a garden of odor. One evening as Stub was taking a casual walk around the garden, he saw a little boy pluck an almost wilting pink rose. Infuriated, Stub yelled at the boy and drove all the frightened kids out of the garden. After the fateful day, the garden never felt the tiny feet of innocent children running or heard their melodious songs.

Stub was happy to see the calm. Pride blinded him to see the wilting roses, the mournful jasmine or the yearning tulips. He renamed the garden to ‘The Garden of Immense Joy’. Neither the roses nor the jasmines or the tulips had a way but look at their caretaker with hopeful eyes that a miraculous day might change things.

My love deepens,

My passion ignites,

The aroma permeates deeper,

Stronger romantic vibes,

Looking like never before,

Under the night sky,

Whispers of a breeze so tantalizing,

And the glimmering stars fight,

Fighting for a glimpse of you,

In the quiet of the night,

Faint Bryan doesn't give up on 'Summer of '69',

You just sit on the table with an innocent look,

Steaming and smelling your best,

You look particularly beautiful at this hour of the night,

It is then, then that I take that mesmerizing sip,

Till the last drop of you my cappuccino, I am totally entranced.

Thanks Sam for taking me to the most amazing coffee shops in town. My love for coffee is just growing by the day.

What is right and what is wrong,

Reaching a point when it matters no long,

‘Right’ conventions seem stifling,

Yet another desire dies struggling,

The little girl still keeps the hopeless hope,

Can you see she is trying to grope,

Caught between expectations and wishes,

Caught between a life and her life,

So hello miss, “have you lived”,

“Monsieur I think just managed to survive”,

So miss “do you know where is the key?”

“Monsieur I am locked within my own thoughts.”

So miss, “are you sure you really survived?”

“Monsieur I did in my world of words and that’s all I’ve known”

 “Miss, you disappoint me deep,”

“Monsieur my attachments are way too steep.

 I have lost with every sound of chime,

And I am sorry for strangling your desires with mine.”