Mumbai...

Five years ago I wrote this Book Review for Suketu Mehta's Maximum City, while my opinion for the Book has not changed, my love for Mumbai has only increased, manifold.. !

"Words have a way of betraying the author, revealing his inner fabric of thoughts, the facade of education notwithstanding. None can escape the battle, its only a matter of time and grace. Suketu has laid himself bare, and it amuses and saddens me with every observation and every phrase - evoking a myriad mix of vapours, while i pretend not to sneeze.

However may i judge the book, the city remains the winner. I adore Mumbai."

Been almost 4 months now.. Miss you Mumbai.. !

Leaves of Memory

As I crossed the road, looking out for cars, my mind crossed over to a different moment in the past. I was walking down the pavement, carefully stepping in the cement patterned blocks and making a mental note of their count. I did this every single day, returning from school, barely noticing the Delhi summer heat or dust. It was a long walk from the main road, winding through a plant nursery on one side and flanked by a red brick girls' college on the other. The road split at the local neighbourhood market, where I would stop for cola flavored ice. Everyday. For three years, till we moved to another house. With my faithful companion, I would continue the walk home, crossing houses with bright clothes on the washing line, parked cars - some new, while some clearly from a different era, both lending a charm and story to the adjoining house.

Evenings would be spent exploring the huge park behind the house. There were all sorts of horror stories associated with it, waiting to be investigated. Enid Blyton provided considerable inspiration for such activities. I would make a mental note of all our advents for I was definitely going to publish the daring escapades.

It was here that I learnt Taek-won-do, dutifully, every alternate evening, not enjoying a single moment. However, the glamour of being a black belt someday, ensured full attendance till I got my orange belt. No, it wasn't me who gave up, but my instructor, as he got married and relocated, leaving all his disciples at various hues of the Rainbow.

I also owe my inclination to befriend trees to this wildlife sanctuary of flowers, trees, scary sleepy gardeners and kids. Each tree had a name, in addition to the binomial nomenclature, planted firmly on a much rusted sign, along the tree, courtesy my compulsive habit to name everything I came across, even the benches. The trees too seemed to sway their approval on being greeted with nonsensical nicknames.

Evenings would lead to dark, inky nights - my favorite time of the day. Much time was spent stargazing, wondering and dreaming of Future. The clouds were instructed to make way for the twinkling constellations, followed by squeals of delight on their submission.

Life was definitely simple. Funny, now I dream of the Past :)

Bystander Anonymous

Last week's events in my current city clearly seem to have spiralled a lot of thinking and action plans. There's a cause, close to hearts and an aim, to which each of us, lay a claim. I closely followed the entire episode and its aftermath, felt the anguish and the horror, post-mortemized each news byte with kith and kin and finally returned back to what we term as 'normal life'. I was and am a part of the action, reaction and the judgment but I strangely feel detached at a personal level. Its not a detachment of nonchalance. It stems out of the overwhelming feeling of being a bystander.
I realise that I am a bystander witnessing the unfolding of my life. At times, I feel in charge, totally charged and motivated, ready to make a difference, to work towards a sense of achievement, however, at other times, I get bogged down, tired and depressed, giving up and finding solace in self pity. At all times, I deliberate, act and judge, feeding the engine of life. It runs me and this brain, keeping itself amused on the ruminations which clearly have little bearing on my future for I can be the next terror victim, lying in a pool of blood, with having precious little to bear testimony of my life, which i otherwise, take so seriously !

Day 0

Since time immemorial, I have been composing little blog-lettes, (if you'll excuse my imaginary words) in my head. All it takes is a little trigger, could be an unexpected smile, a longer wait at the traffic signal, an overwhelmingly emotional movie, a long walk ... all these and more, albeit am in my usual dreamy state, which is ALWAYS the case. So with so many stories, characters, plotlines and voices in my head, it is but natural to feel the urge to archive them.

This blog is my attempt to chronicle every little word web that my brain thinks worthy of sharing.

Happy listening, blog !