Do you have the time?

She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go. She let go of the fear. She let go of the judgments. She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head. She let go of the committee of indecision within her. She let go of all the 'right' reasons. Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go. She didn't ask anyone for advice .She didn't read a book on how to let go. She didn't search the scriptures. She just let go. She let go of all the memories that held her back. She let go of all the anxiety that kept her from moving forward. She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right. She didn't promise to let go. She didn't journal about it. She didn't write the projected date in her Day-Timer. She made no public announcement and put no ad int he paper. She didn't check the weather report or read her daily horoscope. She just let go. She didn't analyze whether she should let go. She didn't call her friends to discuss the matter. She didn't do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment. She didn't call the prayer line. She didn't utter one word. She just let go.

No one was around when it happened. There was no applause or congratulations. No one thanked her or praised her. No one noticed a thing. Life a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go. There was no effort. There was no struggle. It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad. It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be. A small smile came over her face. A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore.

~Safire Rose

Addickt

The only remotely descriptive travel post I have ever written

Thing is, deciding on the spur of the moment to just take off, I didn’t really know what to expect out of this. Although I’ve spend 4/5ths of my life in the north-east, these hills completely bewitched me, blissfully carrying me off into clouds made out of some serious insight. The grace of the place is difficult to explain, so is the enormous freshness that it exudes. I filled up my ashtray lungs with the sweet air as much as I could but it really wasn’t enough. I even lost to urge to smoke, the altitude just taking me higher and higher, at each wind of eerie mountain road, greenery even more prettier than the last, little fascinating things even more pristine than the last, the air even colder than the last breath, and the tip of my nose almost freezing in delight! My legs ached so much throughout (I am not used to walking so much in a day!), uphill and the tougher downhill, but I just wanted to go on and on, at my sweet pace, reach the point where I am higher than everything else in the world, above everything else, above the life that I know, head among the clouds, mind at flight.

So here I am, documenting a journey sitting back at my desk at work, picking out the pictures that best tell my story. I was charmed, so enchanted and happy. I don’t usually put up any pictures or write about any occurrences that really impact me, but see, now I want to!

Excuse shaky picture quality. Excuse badly composed photographs. Or just excuse me.

So here we are waiting for the bus outside ‘Parveen Travels’, Pondy. Nothing too ground-breaking- just documentation 101.

Here, we stop at around five in the morning, none of us wanted any chai so we just sat about smoking, and already the place started to remind me of Meghalaya/Upper Assam. 

 

Here, we begin the ascent towards Kodai. Pictures taken out of the bus window. I am too excited to go back to sleep. 

We reach at 8.30 a.m. Kodai town is tiny and clean! Much like old-Shillong. We eat awesome hot puris for breakfast before heading off to Vattekanal- which is higher up than Kodai.

We start walking up hill. It’s a wrong road that we have taken and will take us 2 hours to reach there but at this point I don’t care. See why. These are some pictures I randomly took here and there. 
 

This is when shit got serious for me. I was hell bent on being one-of-the-hills, acting a bit eerie, not talking much, just out of wind and thrashing my head all ways to cram in as much beauty as I could. And we kept on climbing.   

Reached Vattekanal and Jacob’s (name changed for privacy!) Cottage. And we had successfully captured the only remaining little wooden cottage, dim, cosy, complete with awesome blankets, dining table, lots of windows, crazy art pieces, paintings, and a fireplace. Me started clicking pictures before we messed it up with our luggage.
 

The mist had a mind of it's own, circling down on us from time to time.

We opened up the Old Cask and smokes and later went to down to town with our heads swimming (took us another hour and half to walk).   
 

On way, arguments and revelations broke out. Joe and I came across this gorgeous hill doggy and were convinced that the mystery dog had appeared only for us. Friendliest thing, he gave us the saddest look when we walked on. I swear he was too big to carry back with me.

Doggy performs 'sad'

The town was peaceful as ever and we kept lounging by the lake, around the lake, up and down the markets, and then took a cab back to quite a cheerful night at the cottage a la Vatte. 

Ah, next blissful, ice-cold morning. There is always an Altaf at these awesome places. Ate some Israeli food for breakfast and played with the doggies there. 

Jackie snoozes

 

 Then, for Magica showtime, we headed back to the cottages, this time at the one even further up. Time to put on our 3D glasses, and when the view was like this, what can I say. It was an explosion of happy.

The mist kept swirling in like a band of galloping horses. The plants and trees became our friends, bright, dancing, talking. Shapes, patterns, people, thoughts, colours, sounds, laughter. Irresistable.

Later we went to get some thing to eat down to the tea shop and got caught in a thunderstorm. The mist encircles us and the rain thrashed. Hailstones! We ate a plate of hot maggi (sheesh-instant noodles stalk me), bought some supplies and headed back to the cottage once the rain slowed. It rained the entire night! The electricity went zap, it was now pitch dark everywhere and wrapped up in warm blankets, we zzzzzzzz………

Last day came too quick. 

The Goodmorning Boys :)

The truth has a way of pouncing out on its own.

Potluck cafe fed us well.

Colours at Potluck!

I allow one lousy picture per journey.

Good lord. I die of cuteness.

Camelephant in the house!

To walk is to seek

Freshness of this kind is a slap on the face of a city slacker. Look at what we miss.

Back at the cottage- Old monk, hot cup noodles, Win cigarettes, rain outside and good company. Bliss!

Bootlegging atop the town football field. Glowing lights of the market opposite.

And then we almost missed the bus. Finally caught it and were out like lights in no time. Kodai is definitely worth another trip, another supply of lungful happiness, another round of purification of mind and soul. 

Cheery weekend

:)

The simplicity of it all

It's easy to cook yourself a meal,

dust your tables, wipe some spoons.

Easy to go through all your music folders,

looking for the evening's perfect song,

missing a few phone calls here and there.

Easy to empty out the ashtray, flick off the lights,

check the locks, sleep.

Easy to greet new friends,
and snap off yesterday's liasons,
Easy to be chased for approval,
easier to smile, seem nice.

Easy to text a smiley in return,

an investment in friendship or more, surely.

It's easy to acknowledge flirtatious handshakes,

judge tastes in music, cigarettes.

Easy to lower your standards,

accept the evening's obscure ending.

Easy to tuck a stray behind your ear,

adjust your shirt, prop your elbows on the table,

take a big, brave swig and smile.

Easy to be above public opinion,

headstrong, righteous, impetuous. 

Easy to be so publicly private, discerning,

vehemently swearing by solitude.

Easier not to delve into the fine print

of someone else's emotional crap shit,

unless it's is juicier than expected.  

Easy to appreciate the present companion,

recognize puppy-pleas,

screaming, kicking, pounding baits for attention.

Easy to recognize disappointment and darting envy,

private signals, syncing of wavelength, strengthening of intention.

Easy to climb into your bed, turn over, play dead.

Happy that it is so fucking easy. 

50 ways to leave your lover

On a green grass-covered hill, there is a house. The house is owned by Mr. Swash, who lives alone ever since his wife passed away 14 years ago. Mr. Swash is a collector of all things. A broken toothpick holder, a cashmere napkin, model airplanes, holiday souvenirs, old cameras that don't work, and who knows what other curios decorate his shelves. He likes things that look like they have a personality to them, that have a story to tell, that come from somewhere and someone close or very far away, in another strange realm.

At night, before he goes to sleep, he drinks a cup of sweet brandy tea. It is usually a bitter cold outside and he pulls up his woolen socks before he climbs into bed. His bed is a hay loft in his attic and Mr. Swash is a sound sleeper. Every night while he sleeps, his curios come alive. The model fire-engine goes woot-woot in iterating circles. The toothpick holder picks a fight with the wristwatch. The hamburger fridge-magnet from Austria climbs up to the loft and watches Mr. Swash snore softly. And the tuxedo-clad spy figurine walks up to the poster of Betty Boop and says,

"Hi. I'm Mental. Orna Mental."

I'll be back

Understated elegance

It is going to start raining soon. This is just to document how uplifting the winds and anticipatory air make me feel. The trees are wild and thriving, lusting for the first shower of the year, since the cyclone, as am I! Everything around me looks like a happy collective. The most cynical of all are talking about it. Sneaky wind broken window pane is now tickling me with the torrent-to-be and it is so surreal! What have I done right to experience all of these beautiful days? I am humbled.

I am such a sucker for things nice.

Lament full circle

Either say something nice or nothing at all.
Don't hover ridiculously, with a foot on each edge.
Are you just sleep-deprived, attention-deprived, or money?
The pokerface is unnecessary.

Is it the routine, or
did you spend time with someone you didn't want?
Did the food splurge of starch, or the beer
make one visit to the washroom too many?

The absent moon make ya sad?
The banal talks, the heavy eyelids,
repetitive smoke or oily hair or squeaky voice?
Did you forget what it was that you didn't like?

Invitations that elicit the nod, but deprive the commitment?
A zero-obligation zone, say all the crap you want.
Just, please, remember that while filling your cup
make sure you know how to sieve.
Be choosy. Be so wise, it's audacious.
Stir.

Positive vibrations

Wherever I seem to look, there's no escaping this one. When you're in love, it shows. Oh, yes.
Words have new meanings. The world is beautiful. My skin is clearing up. My smile is wider and I laugh more, smirk less! I like people around me. It's colourful. I pick up phone calls!

Love. My chi is sorted. Thank you very much! :)

Novel practices

Footwear in my dreams,  seeds and stems on my couch, news on TV but what's on my boyish mind? I scratch my head a few times and take deep breaths. Slow down, heart. Death by cardiac arrest, age 23? I should think not.

Thought after thought unravels the day that was. Last night I got back from work and took a small walk through town to pick up a few things I had been putting off. The sea breeze laden air is heavy as I walk through the placid moisture of the air and pass sparse familiar faces. The town shuts down lazily early. I quicken my pace as I pass people and slow down on an empty stretches of  large pattered footpath. Reaching home, it was  a most definitive time to unwind all right. Yes, like those wind-up dolls. Yes, dolls. I figure this is the evening to get done with pending conversations with people. So I get them done with.

Showtime.

Inhale at contraction. 

Look at myself.

Bodies are puppet bags given to the mind.
Must intervene with subconscious habit formation to speed up brain activity. In fact, must eff with it!
You effing idiot. Love? Try PMS. And you're just fat

No. I concentrate. The Serpent soon rises. Meanders above my eyes as we sway. Scares me. But then,

There's really nothing to lose.

Detach. Focus and breathe. Blessed by the presence of my personal choice of elemental magnetism, the sea, nothing can go wrong. Nothing ever did. I start because it's time. I start because it fits. Optimum alignment, did I say?

Exhale at expansion.

Shot in the dark

"You think the world revolves around you!"

Ok, statement made. This time I don't even remember by who, but it's so iterated that all I remember is recognition snaking it's way forth the moment it was verbalised. By whoever the fuck.

"I am a nice person." Hah, I can't say that straight without smiling. Can't write that without smiling! "I swear, I am..."

Someone makes me sit and tells me how to breathe so that I burn lesser oxygen, for meditational purposes, of course, yas. Another makes me sit and tells me how I ought to understand more about cerebro-spinal fuckery (Laxative So Delightful) from her. What?

I want to shed it all. Fling away my weapons, my walls, my books, rubbish:people, some clothes maybe, technology, the matrix, understood truths. But everyday, my Quest is compromised, at first by the bastard alarm clock and subsequently by the endless (role)players which enter and leave my body at astonishing speeds. Night and day, night and day, night and day, I strive unique thought and superiority. Oh, I'm growing old and tired. Yes, I should give up. But hey, at times I do feel so refreshed, I tells ya. Motifuckingvated to fuck around further. By, and for, the giant toy store I wander through, innocent Alice-back at first, but furtively tumbling into the darn hole behind the curtain at the back end (of the store). Oh, you know there's no going back from that one. 

Expansion? Tell me how. Should I push out a third eye from a mental vagina? Should I stare at myself *astral top shot* and confirm how the world fucking does revolve around me?

Yeah, so...
Take a walk, baby, and just keep nodding, yo.

Once upon a painted ocean

I open the balcony door of my new house and the sea breeze wafts in, much welcome. My Buddhist prayer flags flutter continuously, a little stained from the leakage in one box during the shift but still colourful and graceful enough to redecorate my premises with. I remember where I bought them. At the corner off Brigade Road, opposite HM Towers at the Tibetan shop, after a combo meal at Indiana's and some rapid shopping at the adjacent cotton expo.

Yeah, I do miss it. I miss the big trees, the sunny winter sky, the pavements, parks, the bright, alluring lights of my beloved (Brigade road), the haggling with autowalas (atleast they bothered to have a meter), my office, the breakfasts (whenever I woke up on time or hadn't slept the night before), brunches, lunches and dinners. I miss going out for beer in the day time, the wind and sun making me feel like a baked bread, the kind of smell that hovers in the air when you pass a good ol' bakery. Five years in one city, and here I am, sitting in my new office in a new city, reliving all of it, just for a moment.

You can only guess how much I miss the pubs. My evenings occupied with meeting different rounds of friends (although I had my steady partners, you know who you are) and 'downing' the beers, one mug after another, maybe a shot or a few whiskys too, and then some more beer, smokes of course, often the illegal kind, and maaaaybe some fries to go with it. Or fried bacon, if at Pecos.

I don't miss college much, considering that I was never such a regular. I don't miss the formalities of it all, the begging and pleading for attendance. I miss a few of the good times, a few teachers, although even then, much of my memorable moments were outside, probably in my first PG, or the terrace house we shared. I remember evenings when we used to sit on the terrace with pillows and a mat, a little buzzed, or the marathon Old Monk-One Tree Hill sessions, the fights, girl issues. Bangalore was new then, and there was so much to discover. I remember spending a lot of time with one person but neither him or me are the same anymore.

My orange house. I was free. I was myself. I was somewhat unstoppable and yes, I've had a great run. Customised, it was my shelter, my refuge and savior, shaping me, everyday that I learnt to do it all on my own. I've thrown up in some unspeakable places in that house, broken perfectly harmless things in anger, cried my heart out over spilt maggi and kept dogs, five of the best, who tattered the place into even more of an identity for me. I know each stain, every crack, chip, scratching. I know the secret words penciled into the walls. The leakages and the spot to place the mug when the roof leaks. The sunny terrace where I played with all of the dogs, cleaned their poop, tottered about on the terrace ledges, some nights. Uncle has been kind.

I'm not a person too attached to anyone else. At least, I thought so. But I find myself aching for those people that I saw everyday. I want to trace back all those evenings, doing nothing. Don't smoke the J without me, don't go to for 'a couple of drinks' without me, don't make more friends, don't tell anyone else what's bothering you, don't plan road trips, don't buy new shoes, don't make my favourite dinner, don't go on dates, don't buy beer and go to someone else's house. Stop at number 42, Benson Town, and head straight down from the gate, white door. I'll open it, maybe a dog will rush out. And you can come share my slice of seclusion. Sometimes, the knocks on the door were unwanted. I didn't want to but I still let in some people who slowly made their way through my unpredictable moods, and surviving that, my ashtray of a heart. Friends, and slightly more intimate friends, hats off to you guys for bearing up with me. I still don't know why I am like this. But if you know me, you should know that only sometimes do I regret it!

Few months ago, I thought I knew what I wanted. Maybe I didn't. And maybe I still don't. I uprooted myself off the complacency I built around me and arrived in a seemingly quieter place, starting all sorts of new things for no reason. I wanted to be so careless about everything, weight-free, but some of these memories smile up at me from the bottom of the pool of timepassedby, while unpacking all the useless bits of Bangalore I've brought here, and they don't let me go, some evenings. 

It's not going to be back. We've moved on and along with the pace of things around us. It doesn't take me more than half a day to get over anything and like most of timepassedby, it may have all been a gigantic mirage. But I carry with me totems of small kinds, swaying the mind back to breezy days when we shared a smoke, a laugh, a hearty bitch about life, a house, a holiday, a beer, an auto somewhere or the other, and you know it's true, you don't forget.

Re-purposed

Fiasco a la ferris wheel

Don't look down. Just don't.
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.


ONCE MORE!

Pachydermal temple in Pondicherry town

The proportion of  her eye in no way befits her body. She moves to and fro, restless on that make-shift plank of sturdy wood below, her stage. It's loud around her and she makes no sound. She is tame now, not among her herd, but cast in the role of Tributary of the Righteous. Years of training and the pokes of the sharp end of that wretched stick teach her to keep her calm, she can't regress now, the Man knows her. And she knows too well, the coins go to That One, the fruits to herself, and the tidbits to the Guy Behind. People come in welcomed throngs, especially on the weekends- free-time for the religious, with their ever-so-intoxicated ritual fervour. She dutifully sways her trunk around their heads, twenty, thirty, forty times a minute. They have been blessed now, by the female incarnation of the god of that temple. She isn't bound like a zoo animal because instead of chains, there are payals on her front feet. Motifs on her forehead, around her ears and stretching to her back. She is pretty and clean, not too big a size for the crowd. She is no beast, but a living temple deity. She doesn't scare, for she is sacred. Her small eyes watch the crowd, discern which one comes next, who carries what in their hands, who searches for the blessing. Mid-way, she sneezes once, emitting a splash of slime and the crowd jumps back. In disgust now? They move closer, daring each other to touch her first. They are safe from her, she can't do much under their watchful eyes, prying eyes, intrigued eyes, fascinated, condescending. Her own never settle, but keep roving, like she might be blind. Once blessed, the crowd around her moves on, to the sellers of many things devotional, commercial and artificial. She stands there the whole day, and weeks and months, for everyone loves her. The kids run about, trying to evade her trunk but then are forced by parents to hold still until she is done. She stands, Lakshmi, on the sturdy wooden plank, name card in place, garland on neck, payals on feet, stump-tusked, trunk swaying, feet roving, eyes...

She stands there the whole day. And everyone loves her.