Any dream will do

Radhe. And Krishna.

I've recently returned from the best trip of my life so far. I still haven't come down from the high. And verbose and dry and prosaic as my posts are, and perhaps have always been, you just can't hear the music that plays when I write or read them :-). Whoever said that real life has no background music needs a bottle of Waxonil or a hearing aid.

For example, I can tell you of having eaten only dinner for four days and cramming in some biscuits and bananas through the day to curb the hunger that gnawed at my stomach, but you won't be able to hear the lilting voices all around calling out the Lord's name that drowned out the alimentary rumbling. I can tell you of the noiseless din in the dining hall during dinner where nobody spoke, yet everyone communicated, but you won't hear the speaker right outside the ashram that reverberated joyously in one voice the beat of a thousand hearts. I can tell you of our tireless barefoot journey in cold, cold December, on the very land that He roamed many, many years ago, but you won't hear all our teeth chattering in unison to a rhythmic chant of the Maha mantra. I can tell you how I did not know anything but Him for a precious few moments, far too precious and far, far too few, and how I did not want to know anything but Him for a long time after, but you won't hear the silent prayer that my heart knew but didn't say. I can tell you of the man with the kindest eyes I ever saw, ladling food into little bowls made from dried leaves for those who knew hunger like we never have, but you won't hear the melody that a thousand voices sang along as the hungry ate, voices that did not know dark skin from white. I can tell you of the narrow streets that were wide enough for only one cycle rickshaw to pass through at a time, streets with overflowing gutters on each side, but you won't hear the rickshawallahs call out "Radhe Radhe" to each other in a way that you could hear the smiles in their voices. I can tell you of the Lord's footprint that I touched with my own hands, but you won't hear the parrots sing and the cows moo in the gentle evening breeze. 

It's been a week since I've come back, but the buzz is still there. Leaves are falling outside and I can see them flit lazily downward, pausing for effect in the gleam of the streetlight as if to tell me, "Look how light I am. I'm not bothered with all the honking below me like you are. I may not be able to fly, but look at me float. Slow. Enjoying the lightness that I feel. And learn."

Angels fly, because they take themselves lightly, I've heard someone say. Well, what do you know. I've never felt this light in my whole life.

Vrindavan, heaven on earth, take me home. 

P.S. I touched HIS footprint!!!!!!!!!!! A very happy 2007, everybody! May this year be everything you want it to be!

1. Be an NRI.

2. Choose girl from a slew of choices and fly down to meet her.

3. Propose marriage.

4. Meet her parents.

5. Say "I want you to meet my family".

6. Go back to Uncle Sam and slowly allow silence to creep into communication over three months.

7. Post girl meeting your family, completely ignore mails and messages.

8. Continue ignore mode till girl loses it and mails you, asking you what's wrong.

9. Tell her you're not quite sure, but once you are, will let her know.

10. Call her a few days later and give her the most inane reason as to why you two can't be together and call it off.

 

My friend and me

Looking through her red box of memories...

 

These things happen, I'm sure. Relationships break for real ridiculous reasons all the time. But there are a few pieces missing in this puzzle that gives you the distinct feeling that there is more to it than meets the eye. For example, from the look of things (and I had a good look), it seems to me that this crack, for want of a better word, developed long before my friend was to go meet his family. And still, she was made to go through the charade of meeting his family in another city at her expense (In case you didn't know from your bar-charts, we don't earn in dollars here). I'm glad that this thing ended before it was formalised with an engagement of sorts, and God forbid if it had gone all the way through to marriage.

 

I bear no illwill towards the guy in question. He is a complete unknown and I wouldn't want to know him, either. I tried my best to give him the benefit of the doubt and yes, I was pretty convinced that he did indeed have a decent reason for taking this extreme step for a while there. He didn't seem to be a cad, from what little I know of him. However, my one grouse is that she could have been saved the look in her eye that says "Huh? Say what?" Lord knows it is tough enough to field questions from "wellwishers" of the family about being 30 and single and a "burden" to parents and to society on the whole. Thank you very much, but we can do without more trouble in our lives, like how will we tell all those "wellwishers" who were informed of the wedding that it's been called off and ignore the ill-concealed "pity" in their eyes and see the light fade in our parents' eyes and chuck this trait that we've honed to perfection over the last three decades of living that doesn't allow us to rave and rant and call you names and tell you to go take a flying fuck.

The heart is NOT a superstition, and it can take many a beating and still function. But what it cannot take is indignity of any kind, especially when we've placed some trust in you. And this is worst kind of blow you could inflict on it. We give away our hearts easily. That is because we have faith in you and that is because we have faith in tomorrow. That doesn't give you the right to walk all over it. Good riddance. Know that whatever your reasons are, they DO NOT justify the tears in my friend's eyes.  And they do not justify the sudden discourteous wall of silence from your side of the court. It really does not paint you and yours in a good light. You bet your sorry ass I'm indignant, I'm furious, I'm downright livid, for you are not the one to wipe away the tears that refuse to flow from her eyes.

 

And I hope you read this. Thank your stars that it was not me in her place. I would have asked you to reimburse my flight expenses and the bill for the lingerie I was going to buy. Hell, I would have even bought the lingerie!

 
It's raining leaves everywhere. From tall trees, small trees, sturdy trees and felled trees. They are felling trees by the dozen, the authorities. To make way for the scores of people and vehicles that have descended upon my land of plenty to suck it dry of all that it has to offer. All in the name of progress. Little cream-walled houses with grey doors are being replaced by stylish bungalows and small roadside shops have had to bow out for the multiplexes and the malls. These new structures lack the one thing that they set out to find in the first place. Character. My city and its dwellers of generations refused to part with it. Nature is angry, too.  I saw yesterday morning that she was furious. She had commanded a big, old grandpa tree to uproot itself and crush the wall of a house she didn't like. I wanted to stay and count the rings of age, but I didn't.

 

Me, an endless journey

pictures in the mind

that refuse to age

a lying mirror

a lull that storms taught me to hold on to 

 

The rains are late this monsoon. They seem to have given my city the go-by. This time last year, the monsoon was relentless, leaving pain and fear in its wake. My city, known for its well-balanced seasons, where the summers aren't too hot, monsoons aren't too wet, winters aren't too cold and spring isn't around long enough for us to enjoy it witnessed a squall quite unlike any other late June last year. I remember the day well for I was cold and wet and had to walk with measured steps through slush and live wires on dark unlit streets for hours before I could hitch a ride back home. But we are well into July now, and there isn't a whiff of rain for miles and miles around. The familiar nip in the air that monsoon brings is playing an annoying game of hide-and-seek. There is dust everywhere, the kind that stings your eyes if you so much as dare open them when you're in the midst of its fury. The kind that sticks to your feet that no matter how many times you wash them, refuses to be washed away. The dust hasn't settled down, thanks to no rain. And for no reason at all, I thought of you today.

 

You, a lyricless song 

the absence of first rain

the missing colours of the rainbow

the soft glow

around the pall in the sky 

The very idea of lost love demands that the days be cold, thoughts be gloomy and tears be unshed to think of what-could-have-beens. It's strange for this is not a warm day in September to remember you and your green plaid shirt by. I haven't walked down the street that leads to somewhere to remind me of the first time I heard your voice. I haven't had a cup of mocha in that dinghy cafe in recent months. Where I first hugged you. Or was it you who hugged me? I didn't read any old mail from you, nor have I listened to...

Follow me where I go,

What I do, who I know,

Make it part of you to be a part of me

...in ages. But something about today made me think of you. Memories fade, new dreams replace old ones, people move on, but some things linger on in their absence. And catch you unawares to bring back the smile that you missed.

Us, a wordless story

secrets never to share

faded yellow leaves

fallen on a lazy puddle

that yesterday's almost rain left behind.