The buildings ran amok and people froze

A few minutes ago, I lit my first joint in weeks. A friend left me some, more for his safe-keeping than my consumption and I rolled one out of boredom and an acute need to break the stagnation that is my every evening nowadays. I went out to the balcony of my room and kept out of the eye of my mother’s driver. Lit it. Waited. The lampshade hanging in my room casts a diffused glow into the balcony. It looks pretty. Below, the dark of the children’s park next to our house is hollow black. My eyes don’t see very clearly anyway and I can’t make out anything in the dark shapes below. All I can make out is the streetlight some distance away and a car or bike passing in the road. In the dark, all that moves is their light.

The buildings don’t move. They never ever move. In the darkness, they look more patient than ever, waiting only for people to animate them. The ones who built them. I thought about a story and here I am writing it. The problem, the one that’s really biting me, is that I can’t thread it together for nuts. I have been alternating today between mild love-type exhilaration and uncontrolled laughter and a dull sword-over-my-frustrated-head kind of moments. And wondering if I would black out after eating the humongous monster aloo chaat made by this guy in the marketplace earlier today, i.e., wondering if the unexpectedness of the giant gut-buster would cause a serious alteration to my physiology. My playlist goes on and on and on. I went to the riverside today. The river is calmer than the sea and I am dreadfully out of practice (writing). Kites and crows fought for scraps of dead fish strewn around the sands, while a deadly sausage-fest style party of about 200 boys danced (?) in the restaurant-ship close by, to Chikni Chameli that played real, REAL loud. The Kites won the fight easily (boy, they are huge; wingspan, large) and scattered the smaller scavengers who waited their feeding turn.

Me VS giant Gut-Buster

I am just a little buzzed. December is cold in Assam and my hands and feet feel numb. Apparently, it gets colder next month. I can’t wait. For a long time, I have been thinking and thinking of how this is my first proper winter at home after years. I am completely confused over what to do about it. Eg. Bonfire, morning walks, work, live life to the fullest, etc. Everyone keeps telling me that I do nothing. Day in, day out. Every day that I have moved back home. And I know it to be true. I am so bad at freelancing and setting any rules or boundaries for myself. But I don’t really want to rant about it here again.

So my new rant will take on a more conceived form. Do I mean controlled? Maybe. Or maybe I mean concentrated. Maybe. Since I can’t and won’t post my exact thoughts on to the internet, maybe I can think of some metaphors. Damn. Back to Plath again (Metaphor is a poem by her about pregnancy). She is so scary. She is so subtle-ly scary. You just don’t realize when she slips you a good, solid one that hits you right on the top of your brain, a resounding, light, but well-placed smacker. Some pages left to finish her novel. I’ve abandoned it in its most terrifying chapters. Sylvia has woken up in an asylum of sorts. Face is different colours. Hair in short tufts. Under electric-shock treatment, etc. Scary stuff. And so wonderfully metamorphed (tisa word) from the initial opening pages of a thinking-girl’s Sex in the City style New York.

Flash news: Gut-Buster has got me. Am I stoned, cold or sick? Can’t tell because I feel fine but keep imagining/noticing my eyes darting way too much as I type this. But while I was in the loo, I thought I looked fine. Maybe it’s a good idea to fall sick for a few days. Then I can bypass the whole bling ka-ching Xmas/New year’s hype.

Idiot. Not escapist at all.

I think now I shall write a bit about my confrontational issues.

I cannot confront.

On a personal level. Anything. Anybody. Myself.  It gets a bit too much and was pointed out to me today. I kind of knew this in parts, but today, friend said it’s been a problem with me. I think she said it from experience. And that makes it true. And if it is true, then I have a serious problem that I have to do something about because it may be a root cause of my frustrated sedentary life. Friend (as friends do) gave me exact advice on what to do to counter the confront-issue, the execution of which is being currently delayed on my part. More on that later. It’s a vicious loop.

Gut-Buster has shattered my illusion about having a tough, Indian stomach. I have prided myself on it, many a time, eating many a junk in copious quantities. Pride, pride, pride. Shame on me. Where does it leave me in the end? Wondering if the maker of the GB knew what his lovely, exotic, 120 bucker concoction would be doing to me. He had insisted that I stand next to his chaat-chariot and eat it. He even PACKED some extra for us before we left. It was ditched at the earliest convenience. 

Pride. Another deadly transgression. Is it not a fine line we tread between actual egotist pride and a self-preservation purposed defence mechanism? I think it is. But how do you know all the time that which is which? You don’t. And hence, the fine line, as always, is blurred.

Since I am sort of spilling all, might as well write about the puppy thing. Looking at the new puppy, I wonder with what ease people tell you that a young dog will get used to anything, eg., sleeping at a certain place, toilet-training, whatever else. My point is that puppies are expected to adapt to given circumstance, enthusiastically learn their manners and not really question. This they do. And isn’t this very doggy-attribute the hallmark trait of the evolution of the human kind? Adaptation. Human ability to accommodate, progress, develop, face odds, eras, disasters, dictators, diseases, Justin Bieber (LOL)? Then aren’t we all feeling a little too smug about being the “masters” of creatures whose very characteristics we mirror so discreetly?

Who will learn cursive anymore? Who will take out a notebook and (fountain) pen down daily expenses? Who will make dog ears in books? In some future, I may well be so accustomed to technology that I find it easier. It’s with a painful ache towards analog that I think I may ditch it someday and not care anymore. Digitisation brings us all a futile step closer to the far more superior alien life that we descend from and I just pulled a below-the-belt one. Futile only because us mixed-humans are stupid. Attention spans are extinguishing. There is no privacy left un-invaded. Weed is illegal. Gay sex too.

I cannot think of what to write about anymore. But I am happy about writing a little today. Sad that it’s about to end right now. But let this be recorded as a beep/dot/jolt in the recently-so-symmetrical line of my evenings’ life-support system. One small step for me, a giant leap for... Jalebi. The Day the Buildings Ran Amok and the People Froze.

And beeps are important. ;)

Jalebi at work

Aqueous humour productions

Sometimes I take on
the pain of the world,
and cry my eyes out
dramatically,
cinematically,
when I PMS.

Infinitive

We give words to feelings, which are in fact, infinite.

“Love is such a small word.” Yes, indeed. How do you explain that feeling of soaring through the sky, a crushing, unconditional affection for anything that becomes your complete reason for existence, even if it lasts one small moment or an entire lifetime, should some be so lucky? I have been told to name it ‘love’, but it seems such a small word for something that consumes one entire universe in a heartbeat. Connotations are powerful and all pervasive. Stimuli bombard you at all times and don’t we all know that the subconscious mind absorbs far more than we actually realize. Symbols, words, shapes, names, written and inherited by word of mouth, and what not, sustain the entire universe of us humans as we know it. And for those who don’t experience this passing down of these attributes, connotations are then action- reaction. An understanding- some sort of flowing, organic, multi-dimensional understanding that occurs and then, without getting verbose about it, connotes itself to the other, very easily and effectively. I mean for example, an ecosystem sans human beings, or the movement of planets and stars.

I read that it is very wrong to repress your feelings. When you do, it bottles up inside you like a toxic substance within you that will keep you volatile and extremely vulnerable. It will consume your strength, drain you dry and clog all your energy centres. Seems harsh, right? I thought so too, but I have understood that it is very true, by the light of some clarity-defining events. It said that a feeling is a very strong vibe, a frequency that you emit (check movie ‘Down the rabbit hole’), and the repression of which could be very harmful to you, even on a physical level (manifesting in the form of headaches, stomach problems, backaches, digestive, etc.). What I also learnt is that the frequency of an emotion like hate is as strong as the frequency of love, but both operate as opposites in their effect on you. I will dig deeper into this and to someone reading this, please correct me if I have gone wrong with the facts.

It’s like the old Cherokee story- there are two wolves that live within us. One is love, harmony, grace, and the other is hate, jealousy, violence, malice, you get the drift. Which one is stronger? The one that you feed.

In earnest, I am currently trying very hard to remove sources of conflict and strain within myself, to understand myself and these concepts much better, and of course, apply it. There is no point in knowing all the answers if I can’t do anything about it. I feel clogged, and now you know why. I have repressed infinity and that, mon ami, is deathly wrong.

So I am trying to let it all out. It is as simple as breathing, if you know how to do it. And I am very fortunate to be placed in a land and among people who can help me do this. It’s all there at the exact right time. Make no excuses because there are none in the continuum of ‘time’- another small word for something that is... again, infinitive! 

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

:)