A Morning...

An uncle in my building passed away today. He was not that old, maybe 50, but had suffered a bypass and had been keeping ill for sometime now. I never talked to uncle, I don't even really remember his face. I am not the social kinds, much to mum's chagrin. All mum's society friends think I am snobbish, but really, I just don't know what to say to them, and smiles don't come easy these days. It's sad, but that's how things stand.


So here I was dreaming away, sitting by my window, and I realized, downstairs they were taking away his body. It felt cruel to be dreaming, when a soul had passed away, when someone's daughter was crying, when someone's wife was desolate, a family was mourning.


You know, how you're always so sure you are going to have the people you have in our life all your life? Like you never think about it. Your family, your friends, you think they are there for you...forever. But what happens when they leave you? What happens when they leave when they are not supposed to leave? When their time is not done...not according to you atleast?


People have come and gone like breeze in my life. Always leaving me behind, they have gone after their dreams, their destinations, to their people. I am used to being left alone. I am used being left behind. There is shock and there's hurt and there's immense anger when they leave. Specially when they were not supposed to leave. Specially when you're not ready to let them go. Specially when you need them. But you are never given a choice.


I have learnt to spend every minute I have with them keeping in mind that they could go any time, with a notice or without one. That the time I have with them will never come back and that I might not get any more in the future too. They might give you enough time to reconcile with the fact that they will no longer be a part of your life, like an ill parent, you'll have enough time to prepare for the eventuality, or like a friend who decides he/she doesn't want to be a part of your life any more, just like that, they might go without a notice. But one day they all have to go. I have made peace with it.


It's a funny thing. Praveen used to say to me that I am a girl with many emotional needs. I have a rainbow of emotions. Which is why I always needed these people around me. Each one different from the other, each one special. Each one in my life had a purpose and a meaning. Each one meant something to me, each one provided in some way. But slowly they all left. And I am learning to fend for myself. My emotions. I am learning to take care of my own emotional needs all by myself. It's not easy, you'll feel lonely more often than you'd like to feel, even for an introvert, but that's how life is. It teaches you things you rather not learn.

*****
The first thing M says these days is "get married". That's how he starts his conversations with me. Maybe he can read what I refuse to acknowledge. And what he says makes sense. Then P and H and a whole bunch of friends have started counselling too. Before going on Caribbean holiday sister gave gyaan on how I should marry now and have kids before it's all too late. And look, ups and downs will be there, she says, but one must do what one must do. And then she said something very cruel, and I hated hearing it. But it's true. Like a wanderer, how long will I go from one guy to another? When will I make a home for myself?


The other day I was making breakfast and mum was sipping her chai, and then in a very unsure voice she says, "Do you like anyone? If you do, why don't you introduce him?" And I went all "huh? what hit you?" Mum has talked about marriage before, and every time she did, I cried like a 3 year old who did not want to be sent away to hostel. Yes, I cried, I bawled and I told her not to talk about such stuff to me. But this time I realised I needed to talk. So I told her I used to like someone and had thought I wanted to spend my whole life with him. But he did not. And so we had a big discussion, she sympathized, showed concern, advised and told me to think about marriage. And I told her I needed time but that I'll give it a thought. She seemed to be okay with it. I guess she was just happy I did not cry this time.


Was speaking to G yesterday. And what she said, much to my dread, made sense. Yes, compromises will have to be made. You have to make peace with things you do not like. He smokes? Too bad, you have to "accept" it. He does not take you out on romantic dinners, too bad, but atleast he offers to help you in the kitchen. Yes, no one is perfect. Like someone said on twitter,

There is no one soulmate. No one true love. No one perfect someone. Its all about you getting tired of chasing the perfection. And so any two people are perfect for each other given the right compromises, or disastrous together given the right circumstances.

They are people like you and me, all same, with just different shades. And it all comes down to, how much more longer are you willing to walk alone?

The Magic Carpet...

(If the embedding does not work, go here for the song-->Happy by Sidd Coutto)

Look outside the window. Close your eyes. Let the sunlight fall on your face. You're on a beautiful beach. You're wearing your favourite dress or shirt. You're having a good hair day too. There's breeze, the sea looks happy, the waves say a warm hello. The sky's blue with white fluffy clouds. You are surrounded by all your friends...friends you haven't seen in ages...friends you had forgotten...friends that have drifted apart. Everyone's in a playful mood. Everyone's happy and dancing and singing happy. There's no worry only smiles. Someone pulls you out from the cane chair and you do a little happy jig. There's laughter. There's white sand under your feet, sea shells, your favorite drink in your hand and your sunglasses to make you feel glamorous (though you don't really need those, you feel on top of the world anyway). The air is fragrant...with freedom and laughter and smiles (and tiger prawns).

You look around and you feel...life, as it should be. Happy. 

Hodophile...

Word for the day: Hodophilia. Someone who gets sexually aroused from travelling.

I totally love this word. And by that definition, I am totally a hodophile! I hope I marry someone who loves travelling. Please god, please please. I'll even learn to pack a lighter bag and carry it myself! I promise.

*****

I loved this article about woman's brain. And I am glad that my reaction to the "silent treatment" is not because I am crazy but it's actually scientifically proven that women hate conflict but lack of response even more. Thank you Live Science!

Once Upon A Time In A Wardrobe...

For the first time in my life, I feel overwhelmed by all the clothes I have. Cleaning wardrobe has always been a therapeutic experience, but for the first time I want to cry. Piles and piles of unused, unnecessary clothes. What am I doing with my life?***

My teenage self would have orgasmed looking at all these shirts, skirts, dresses, scarves, bags, shoes...but at this point in life, I just feel burdened and guilty.


***I never thought clothes would ever elicit such a philosophical question. And it would have been funny, but right now, while I am sittting among mountains of clothes, wondering, what am I going to do now, yes,  it's not funny.

The Sun and Moon Are Best Friends...

I had a difficult time accepting the fact that being sorry also means being okay with not being forgiven.

Just because you're sorry does not mean forgiveness becomes your right. No one owes you forgiveness. It's not something you can demand of the other person. And it's just plain arrogance to think otherwise.

*****
The lyrics of this song never fail to make me smile :)

Masochist...

The best way is not to fight it, just go. Don't be trying all the time to fix things. What you run from only stays with you longer. When you fight something, you only make it stronger.

 --Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters, 1999

The Praying Hands...

Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he could find in the neighbourhood. 

Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, the two elder children, Albrecht and Albert, had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they knew well that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the academy. 

After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines, and with his earnings, support his brother, while he attended the academy. Then, when the brother who won the toss completed his studies, in four years, he would support the other brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork, or if necessary, also by labouring in the mines. 

They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg. 

Albert went down into the dangerous mines, and for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation. Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works. 

When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht's triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honoured position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Albrecht to fulfil his ambition. His closing words were, “And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you." All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side, while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, "No...no...no...no." 

Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, "No, brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg. It is too late for me. Look... look what four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother... for me it is too late." 

More than 450 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and silver-point sketches, watercolours, charcoals, woodcuts and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer's works. More than merely being familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or office. 

One day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply 'Hands', but the entire world almost immediately opened their hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love 'The Praying Hands'. 

The next time you see a copy of that touching creation, take a second look. Let it be your reminder, if you still need one, that no one—no one—ever makes it alone!