Wings

Ah, there it is, on the charming window sill again. Sitting beautifully, softly moving its gorgeous wings. She hadn’t seen it in a while. While she moves from one understanding of the world to another, she will carry these images in her mind, forever, and those on paper will always be b & w. A little like her profession, devoid of colour but exciting and aggressive nonetheless. A long time ago, she had fought with her childhood best friend. To make up for it, she gave her friend a tiny caterpillar in a small box with air holes in it, with a note which read “one day we shall grow up like this caterpillar which will soon become a butterfly, and fly away… let’s make the most of what we have”.

Another farewell

Every time she moves to a new place, she starts writing a new chapter in her book. The romantic fool that the woman is, she weaves her life into a beautiful fairy tale. But she has closed so many chapters in that book of hers that she carries a choked feeling around for a while. Her heavy heart bids adieu to the city that gave her her first bread and butter. The wind scatters her hair and the sea beckons her to stay. Bye bye Bombay, love you to bits.

BOMBAY, The life that was

For the better or the worse, this city has grown on me and it only took a year to do so. To leave it feels like amputating a part of me. I will carry figments of it in my heart forever. The exhilarating, the smelly, the crowded and dirty yet beautiful, formidable, spirited and the extremely fair city... The long drive to work, the crazy traffic, Hard Rock Café, Gokul’s, Tea Centre, friends, loved ones, midnight excursions, exchanging notes on books with the Butterfly, friendly banter with colleagues, office and even the cabs, trains and the rains!! Bombay never lets the lonely down. The solitude is always momentary and the crowd exists forever. The only city that kills you one moment and breathes life into you the next moment. The only city which made me fall in love with it, unconditionally. The only city which took away as much from as it gave. Here, now, our paths that were or are meant to be, separate for the moment, to come together later.

Colours :-)

She loves colours, in everything… Not flashy, gaudy or bright, just colour… Every morning she lights an incense stick in a yellow printed holder, it’s like her food for the senses- smell, vision and touch and her ode to the fire God. Then she lets the sun in and makes her morning flush tea. The pink tea mug with the brown fluid is another reason behind the perfect morning. The blue bedspread and the light peach curtains absorb the yellow energy of the sun. She messes up her hair while reading the news and plays with the red sequined anklet. The green tea box is like a treasure chest, one will find various types of tea bags in there and all one needs to do to de-stress is to open it and inhale deeply. If you ever have a dull day, surround yourself with colours and enticing smells and be ready to take on anything and everything!

Senseless

The silver haze on a platter, the meandering truth in a splinter,
The darkness of the light and the beauty seen by the blind,

The flowers on a grave, the love of a slave
The deity of the priest, the life of a sinner…

Lesson

The spices had faded away a long time ago, leaving only a hint of vanilla behind. Vanilla is a rather strong and seemingly nondescript spice. Its notes remind you of a warm sunny day with all well in the world. It smells lovelier on women. She wanted to go back to the shop to get the dry spice. On her way she stopped by the stationery shop which sold vintage photographs of the city. She climbed the ladder to look for an old Trafalgar pic and she was trying to find her way in the dark attic when she tripped over something. There lay, the most beautifully preserved vines of vanilla. Sometimes we look helter skelter for our heart’s desires but they lie in front of our eyes, for our taking. These spices never cease from haunting and yet teaching you life’s lessons. If we look hard and we look far, all the joy in the world can be ours.

sands...

She was sitting on the beachside, sipping mojitos and musing. She had stopped ravaging the canvas a while ago. Her friends were away, dipping into the ocean and her momentary solitude seemed blessed. People people everywhere and a not soul to love. The hues of blue merging into yellow seemed strangely green to her. All the contemplation took her attention away and she spilt her drink. The mint and the alcohol made strange prints on the damp sand. It looked like a banyan tree with roots touching the ground. The tree of knowledge and enlightenment, the print was speaking to her. It said that the surface isn’t always what we fathom it to be, maybe the sky is the end and earth is the beginning. Maybe sadness is better than happiness. And maybe comfort is discomfort.