It was an evening quite like today. The scent of the wet earth still lingered in the air. Yesterday, rain was the devil. It had in it's power to destroy what was going to be the most memorable day in the life of this bride But today, the rain humbly withdrew from the limelight. Today's star was going to be this girl, sitting pretty with her hand in his', still counting her heartbeats. In those heart beats she was counting time till when she would finally becomes his', when she can  would finally drop carelessly into his arms.

That night, was her night. I was lost somewhere in the grand crowd of eager faces, each of whom smiled for her happiness and comfort. I did too. It was an evening like today. The musty breeze seemed to be my only companion. I had come wishing for her happiness, but in that crowd, I had found myself to be terribly lonely. It was only the bride's face which was familiar. Rest were unpleasantly strange. My imaginations were running amok. Someday, in near, yet distant future, I shall also adorn a pedestal much like her's. To a sprawling acreage of lush greens, I shall also be the shimmering queen.

But for that day, I was lonely. In the unending multitude of heartbreakingly unfamiliar faces, I only had the naughty breeze for company, which also devoted attention to tickling the ribs of small bright lanterns suspended from each tree in the magically illuminated garden. That naughty, musty breeze might have remained my only companion had fate not been in a playful and yielding mood.

Tired searching for a soul warming cup of coffee from the mad array of exotic delicacies competing for attention, I could finally locate a near empty table which seemed friendly enough to accommodate me. I did notice a lone male figure occupying the seat across my own, but that his features would be breathtakingly gorgeous, I had not expected. Had I even meekly expected, I would have stayed away. A dreamy romantic and a hapless single are a lethal combination for a girl who suddenly finds herself in such a titillating zone. Boredom also plays its role in necessitating a leap of heart in thinking "now begin the bright times".

Was I crazy when I shared the first smile? I promise, I did not do it knowingly. His beaming, spotless face evoked a smile in my heart, which promptly ran to my lips. He smiled back. Effortlessly. No, eagerly. This, because, as I later realized, he was my male counterpart at feeling lonely in the deluge of people. Like me, he knew no one else. Like me, he had no company. Like me, may be he too needed someone like me. Yes!

The conversation began with pleasantries. It moved onto polite inquiries.  Name. Occupation. Weather. Food. Ambiance. The bride. The groom. The match. Back to occupation. And then, inevitably, life. Why I said inevitably? Because a part of me told me it would. He had small eyes, hidden behind rimless glasses, which became smaller when he smiled. He never stopped smiling. Consequently, my once sombre face too, did not stop smiling. Worries about reaching home early dissipated into the cold air as I concentrated on how dapper his black suit over a black shirt looked. Did I say dapper? Casually graceful would be more like it.

I am not a shy talker. I must've been talking a lot. I might have said something which made him remark- "You know, sometimes, its just fair that we count our blessings. Those lines of worry which crease your face will disappear in a nano second then." I did not know why he said this, but that is when I kind of came back to senses. What seemed titillating till now was seeming genuinely nice and warm. There was something about his happy countenance; he made me want to smile. It sounds mad, but it also made me want to show my sadness, for he seemed like someone who could still make me smile. There was an enormous amount of positivity radiating from him. What most soothed a nervous girl's heart most was that he was not being kind to me. He prized my chance company as much as I did his'. And this I know, because he was not interested to even look up when bride and groom readied themselves to command attention from each pair of eyes as they exchange the garlands of sacred flowers. He would have much rather continued the conversation, but I did not want to miss one of my favorite rituals from a traditional Hindu wedding.

I stood there, watching them lovingly garland each other. I loved the clandestine glances stolen. I loved the delirious applause filling my ears. I loved seeing her turn red as he claimed her hand back into his. I loved all this, and yet, I wanted to get back to that one conversation which I knew would ease me through the dreariness awaiting with open arms at home. Somewhere, in the middle of that celebratory commotion, I was commanded to head to the gate. My car awaited me. It was late. And I am a girl. A nervous tingle on my spine saw me running to the gate after saying a quick and polite bye. Nervous. I did not think of it earlier, but how many people had seen me laugh and joke and talk with this virtually strange guy in this crowded, yet lonesome place?

On my way back home, I felt silly for feeling all that I did. Sweet silly. I felt grossly silly for not knowing why I did not exchange numbers with him. We had clicked decently well, it would not even have been awkward. No regrets, facebook is the great savior of today. All I need to know about anyone to permanently invite him into my life is his name. I knew his'.

At night, a night like today, with chill pricking at my bare arms, as I sat with facebook friend finder open in front of me, I decided against 'finding' him. He was the perfect stranger. Straight out of books and poems I had read and fantasized about. He will only remain the perfect stranger if I abandon my pursuit. Meeting new people, good people, people who survive only as fond memory, is a dreamy concept in retrospect. I like the dreaminess of it  I closed that chapter there. Now I only revisit the pages when the blur in my memory turns inviting.

PS-Few days back, he 'added' me. I cursed facebook for interfering with my dreams from the past. Did I add him too? Well, I still am a nervous romantic and a hapless single. Should I?

Moist pearls tickle my toes

Smell of dew runs up my nose

Bare feet nudging at rich wet grass,

Droplets reflecting the sheen of stars

Eyelid touched by a rainy cue

My lips curve at the magic of dew.

The darkest hour enchants like a spell,

Dawn crawls in with a musty smell.

Morning bliss derived from that,

Nighttime's glow in the nature's lap. 

Disbelief, anger

And a smile.

They who held hands

Apart by a mile.

Love's scary vision

Life's daunting trial.

A moment more of pain

Then grace on a calm heart's isle.

With great things comes the possibility of great losses. 

Our best bet, as I always say, is to live it while it lasts! 

The Christmas tree is said to have its roots in the mysterious concept of the "tree of paradise". Of the more credible stories I have heard about it, one relates to Saint Boniface. Saint Boniface was the patron saint of Germany, a missionary who preached Christianity during the 8th century in the Frankish Empire. A legend of the Christmas tree, perhaps the earliest, relates to the time St. Boniface (Apostle of Germany) was sermonizing against idolatry to a tribe of Germanic Druids. To prove that oak tree was not sacred and inviolable, he fell one on the spot. As the tree toppled over, it crushed everything which came in its way, except for a small fir sapling. Saint Boniface conjectured the survival of the fir as a miracle, and proclaimed it as "Tree of Christ". It thence became a tradition to celebrate Yule Tide by planting and nurturing fir saplings.

As a child, I did insist on buying a glitzy little replica of a Christmas tree which I would decorate with shiny bells and stars humming away "Star of wonder, star of light." I knew many carols in my innocent days, which are now fading away from my memory. One which I remember distinctly still is

Long Time Ago In Bethlehem
So The Holy Bible Says
Mary's boy child, Jesus Christ
Was born on Christmas-day
Hark now hear the angels sing
A new king born today
And man will live forever more
Because of Christmas-day.

This carol has a nice chime to it, which recreates all the memories from my school days, where our teachers genuinely endeavoured to inculcate in us the spirit with which the festival should be celebrated. Whether it was those innocent 'Merry X-Mas' cards we made, or the repeated story telling sessions of 'A Christmas Carol'- there is much I miss as I type out this post with my fingers freezing over the key board. Yes, a nice family dinner, complete with a ritualistic plum cake will form a part of my celebrations. What I do not have this year, though, is a nice Christmas Tree- which I really wanted to decorate and which would have added a glow to the otherwise blanketed by winter, lazy atmosphere of my home.

However, not having the tree is not really making me morose for now. In fact, thanks to the plethora of wonderfully positive statuses I have read since oooo hours on facebook, conveying wishes from virtual unknowns to more unknowns, I have this feeling which has begun to grow on me with surprising intensity. I'm being lulled into believing that occasions like Christmas are to step back and invest time on counting one's blessings and making efforts to preserve and cherish them. The wonderful charisma of the Yule festival does, for some signify the impending close of a year- for others, it brings with itself the optimism of preparing and planning for an altogether, yet untouched new year with promises and opportunities we neither know nor can guess about. More often than not, life becomes pretty or ugly simply by what we choose to see in it. Said a very smart man once- 'Twixt the optimist and pessimist/ the difference is droll/ the optimist sees the doughnut/ the pessimist the hole.

Alright, so now I am happy, and looking forward to not just a day, but a whole week of fun, optimism and celebrations, till I settle down into a new year with some new responsibilities and some old dreams firmly planted in my heart and mind. What is the most beautiful thing about Christmas for me? It is the description defying aura which this festival builds around itself. So powerful is the spirit surrounding the festival, that it ensnares all- who own this festival and those who simply choose to flow along with its bliss. I began my Christmas by making a wish- a secret and seemingly impossible, but a wish nonetheless. Baking a cake is next on my agenda. Calling friends, catching up on missed details will form a sure part of my day today. And when I am done laughing and sharing this festive mirth, a Christmas movie, tucked away in front of the tv in a warm quilt on my couch, would just be great to end my day with. Should it be Its A Wonderful Life? Or, no. Since romance is the flavor of the season, may be Serendipity, with all its lucky coincidences, and faith igniting madness would be a better prescription for my romantic health.

And for all the lovely people I know, and who know me- I wish you a very happy holiday season! I hope you all have the best time of year today, and still better times as more days and years go by. May you create the happiest memories for yourself and others, and learn to value everything of value in your life. Count your blessings, if you are to celebrate the day as I will. May be, share with me what are the things that make you feel blessed, or simply happy for existing. The love and blessings of our parents, the warmth and comfort of near and distant family and the infinite care/concern/love showered on us by a few close friends are the common blessings we all should be happy about. I know I can witness life's largesse in the small blessings it bestows on me. I can imagine my whole  elusive tree in a little fern which serves me more than that tree as a favorite bookmark surviving all the seasons of a year. I'm sure with a little effort you all can see God's infinite  grace too.

Psst...for all my special ones, and you all well know I am talking about you, I do remember you all in my prayers. No kidding. I actually do. 

To end, the SERENITY PRAYER

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference."

Giving gifts is essential. Call me a nutcase for it, but I firmly believe and maintain it. I read somewhere, that gifts are better than promises. I do not know under what dimensions, but this seems like an uncannily true line. Now, gifts do not always have to be tangible. At times, they can be in the form of just gestures. In either case, what counts for me is not the size, cost, color, texture, usability, et al, of the gift- but simply the thought behind it. Thoughtfulness is what separates a perfunctorily exchanged gift from a truly special, heart warming, talking,loving gift- which someone would adore and remember for centuries (as we may delineate time under the influence of cheesy romanticism)

So why these random murmurings today? Well, in the past two days, I have been blessed with two new people in life- each who brought a different kind of gift-cum-gesture for me with his/herself. While what they gave me was really special, what was more special were the people themselves. They, I am forced to believe, were the actual gifts the holiday season brought along for me. A little something about them.

A Listener

She has elaborately mentioned details of our first meaningful tryst on her own blog, Yarn Of Words, a perfect virtual hangout for hopeless romantics like me. So,what I will tell you of Aakriti Malik, an elder sister for me, is not that she gifted me an image of my own while she sat in front of me; but that she blessed me with the valuable comfort of listening to all my ramblings without judging me in the least. Yes, it is a blessing to be able to stumble upon someone unexpectedly, who connects with you instantly at more levels than you can recognize at once. And if the same person also is an amazing listener, who promises not to judge you while you share thoughts and angst intimate to you, who respects you even for your mortal shortcomings, who wants to hold your hand as you start shivering a little under the influence of your own uncomfortable thoughts- you know the moment you are living is a gift. A rare, special, precious one.

The fact that we have the same proclivities, same phones, same kind-of crushes, same convictions, same romanticism ingrained deep within us only adds to the beauty of what we shared in the short time we've known each other. At times, what we write for ourselves curiously answers the other person's predicaments. I've known her from my pre-blogger days, as a senior in college- but its only here that I could connect so beautifully with such a beautiful person. So even though I have hated online interactions for taking the soul out of human attachments- blogger made a reverse process happen for me. Online interactions, for once, intensified attachments for me. And sure as hell am I glad for that!

A Smile. A Huge, Persistent,  Persuasive Smile.

This was the second most amazing gift I received in a span of two days. More than just a smile in fact. In parts, I have a sequestered existence. With that, I have my sequestered old world notions, a crippling inability to get over things which the technology driven world is leaving behind. Having my ecological austerity in the right place, I still love the whiff of paper. I have always favored greeting cards (the tangible, paper-made ones)  as an amazing mode of conveying simple and warm thoughts, at times even without any reason or season. My ill luck- in the past one and half years (I remember distinctly), only 3 greeting cards have made their way to my collection (In my charming younger days, around 30 cards could be exchanged on any single occasion). To make matters worse, out of those three, two I bought for myself on MY birthday. Desperation, you see.

However, deeply thankful am I to an ever smiling and outrageously humble person, who goes by the name of Rohan Manchanda, for recently making that significant addition to my collection. A year my junior, Rohan, besides being one of the smartest, is also one of the humblest species of BITSians I have come across (oh yes, he totally belongs to that distinguished institution), While I was preparing to greet him with my foul morning temper, exacerbated by the fact that I was a little cross with him over something, the thoughtfully prudent Mr. Manchanda gifted me some colorful scribbles in a dainty little card. If I were a little less sleep deprived, I might have sat down and giggled as I read through the first line of his creativity. It could be my compliment of the year. But, that put aside, I was happy to have made a new friend who was capable of sharing contagious smiles. Himself a brilliant writer, Rohan has been a constant source of not encouragement, but enthusiasm behind many of my recent writings. And the kind of respect he has held towards me, despite me not seeing any reasons behind it, has given me those secret, narcissistic moments of bliss.

Thank you Rohan and Aakriti Di. December began on a particularly morose note for me this year. I sense that changing.

Thank you Saurabh, for just lurking around and being the support I often forget to acknowledge.

Winters feel pleasantly warm now :)

Delhi is a city for the romantics! Whether the Victorian air which greets you as you enter its heart in Connaught Place or the priceless remnants of Mughal and Sultanate architecture which grant it the haunting, old world feel- Delhi will offer you numerous picturesque backgrounds to write your story against. All it needs is the explorer in you, which wants to indulge in its deep set history, and usurp those facets- tangible and intangible- of Delhi life, which grant it its distinct charm. I am, veritably, in love with Delhi! And why not- this is the city which makes me the incorrigible romantic that I am, by giving me such moments which become fond, indelible beauties on the canvass of my memories.

A pity it is, that despite having spent my whole life here, I have primarily explored the city through books and internet. Growing up constraints. But independence brought with it the coveted opportunity of actually going out and understanding and appreciating the city in all its hues. So then, whether it was the monuments, the food, the culture, or the people- I reached out to all that I knew made Delhi special. And this time, the smells, the touches, the emotions, the tastes, the smiles, the textures, the colors- they were all exclusively mine to savour.

Past year was especially brilliant for me, as far as exploring Delhi is concerned. It was a little slow too, because I thought I had discovered my favorites in the city. Janpath, Dargah of Nizam-ud-din Auliya, North Campus alleys, SDA Market Coffee shops, Lotus Temple, Taj CCD, inter alia, top my list of favorite Delhi hang outs. But a decisive winner made its way to the top of this list in October this year. With my best friend in Delhi, and a cooperative weather to make me smile, I thought I might not get a better chance of visiting this one place in Central Delhi I had always wanted to explore. Agrasen Ki Baoli. For those of us who are in love with Mayank Austen Soofi's Delhi diaries, we cannot not know about this place. But visiting it in person is an altogether different experience. And this I discovered on the 19th of October, 2011- what I also like to remember as my favorite Delhi moment from this year.

We reached there early morning. Me and this extremely special friend of mine. Situated a little further up on a small detour off the Hailey road (near Kasturba Gandhi Marg)- one which you are most likely to miss- Agrasen Ki Baoli is not an easy to find monument for first timers. But a cooperative autowallah, content to receive 30 bucks for a 25 rupees worth of journey from Rajiv Chowk, helped us locate it in no time. An unmistakable mustiness greeted us as we stared down the 104 steps of this Baoli. As we later learned from each other, my friend and I resolved almost in our first glimpse down the steps to be back here, back whenever we felt like escaping the pace of life, back whenever we thought serenity would not come so cheap to us at any other place.

Baoli-literally a stepwell. Stepwells were constructed by ancient and medieval rulers as respite zones from scorching heat of Indian summers. There are some more in Delhi, but this one is known to be the most charming. As you will figure out when you visit, the plaque outside its entrance declares it as 'Ugrasen Ki Baoli', but common nomenclature replaces the 'U' with an 'A' to alter the eponymous ruler's identity who is credited to have built this stepwell. At its sides are built some mysteriously inviting niches and chambers, and a staired passageway which leads you to the very top of the reservoir which has now dried up completely. Its popularity and maintenance are both poor. Not many people frequent the place, and in the close to three hours we spent there, it was mostly college students who came, descended to the base of the stairs, and then left as quickly as they came.

We sat around for a long time. It was just very peaceful. Seemed like the perfect place to think, to slow down, and to have a heart-to-heart conversation. When you climb down to a sufficiently low level, you can see just the CP skyline merging with the ancient stones of the Baoli. Nothing else of the concrete world is visible. You feel like you are in two different eras at the same time. Your ambitions want to see you ascend to the top of those tall buildings, your emotions want to restrain you to the tranquility this musty, stagnant well has to offer. Ennui can sometimes be pleasing. And satisfying.

My reverie was broken by the thoughtful look on the face of my friend. Something told me that what I am about to share with this really special friend of mine now is going to be entrenched in my memory forever. I was not wrong. He is a friend I like to call my own; but complications and complacency had both crept in to portend a ruin for perhaps the most special relationship I have nurtured over the past few years. May be it was the feel of being in a time warp, may be it was the calming lull of the surroundings- something enabled me to confess my fears and sadness to him from behind a blur of tears. Some intimate thoughts were then shared. Some dreams, some responsibilities reminded. We went home with a better understanding of each other. We went home a little happier.

A friend, some tears, some words. Delhi's old world beauty in the background. Does one need more to live that cherished, loved, special moment?

I mugged up this line when I was 11. Partly because my favorite teacher reiterated it time and time again, and partly because I found it fancy and inviting at my age. "Life is like a bus. People come and people go, but the bus does not stop. It keeps going on and on and on." Seems like a simple thought at present. Simple enough to not even have any significance.

Why am I thinking about it then? Perhaps because something happened recently, a chance meeting, which influenced me so much, that it is not leaving my mindscape. Even after 4 days. Each day we go out, we meet people. Few we do not as much as notice. Few we click with, or feel happy in the company of. Few we look forward to meeting again. Few, we know, stand apart from the crowd. They constitute a category of people who are mighty charming, who impress with the first word they utter, the way they move, the sort of respect they command from others, but who are also beyond your reach, despite being extremely humble in their disposition.

It is precisely this last category of people I look forward to stumbling upon during my social interactions. My good fortune, I usually do. The charm, and aura which they create is something I feel drawn towards. A new person, a good person, an interesting person always leaves your heart a little more elated than before meeting him. And December gives me the best of such meetings to cherish. However, my last such meeting was a little different. I was happy, but with tears in my eyes. Not the cliched khushi ke aansu. They were what they were supposed to be, tears because something pinched hard, very hard.

You don't give yourself a lot of chances, do you?
I had had breakfast at the All American Diner in the morning with my sunshine friend, and so, I was ebullient. Happy, and smiling to myself. I was happy also for a completely unplanned rendezvous with this person (the subject of this post), still an alien to my world, to whom I had been introduced via lengthy eulogical testimonials from some common friends. Two cups of Barista Cappuccino to start the conversation, what more could I ask for?  Then came this one question, rhetorical-I reckon, which completely caught me unaware. Who was this person asking me this question anyway? It was just a polite coffee I had looked forward to sharing with him, with loads of thought-provoking exchange of ideas embellishing our meeting, just like it happened the last time. This one line, not only provoked my thoughts, but kind of intruded in my personal space. Am I that easy to read? Was he even right?


Something told me he was. Why would that ebullience otherwise plummet so low that I would start averting my eyes from him, and in stead, focus all my attention on two Barista paper napkins hitherto inconspicuously lying on the table? Why otherwise did I catch myself tearing a sugar sachet when for years consistently I have liked my coffee bitter? My mind was bugged by this person's piercing gaze, which I knew was resting on me, waiting patiently for me to assimilate myself and come up with an answer. I could come up with none. In stead, I came up with a question.


What does not giving yourself enough chances mean?
With eyes gleaming of confidence in his own thought, and a mute kindness in his tone, he explained to me the meaning I sought. And that sounded completely like something delineating me- the part of me I try and keep concealed. It sounded painfully like me. By now, that points comes in your meetings with new people, where you realize if the two of you share a kindred connection, or if the initial charm you felt for someone a consequence of a misplaced adrenaline surge, which now has dissipated for the best. As for me in that weird situation, neither of the two happened. I was sitting with someone clearly smarter than myself, but not to intimidating limits. He had lofty ideals in his head, but his head firmly atop his shoulders. His thoughts were a treasure to observe, but suffocating when I tried stepping into the world they created. This was a person I knew I wanted to hear and learn from, but he was definitely a person whom I would not like to have another prompt tryst with.

Of the many arcane things he uttered, one was that he liked making people uncomfortable. Now that was not the most chivalrous of things to say, and hence my response was an obvious grimace. But of all the things I will remember his for, just in case I do never meet him again, this will stay with me. When discomfort settles in, ousting a crippling complacency,  you feel a need to come out, feel alive, make mistakes, learn from them, make mistakes again, and keep learning from a stimulated, active existence. These might not have been his thoughts, but they are my sentiments for sure.

For two days, I was brooding. I had been shaken out of my comfort zone, and pretty badly at that. I am not saying it was a life changing meeting. In fact, it wasn't. But it was one worth remembering, for my own good. His distinct sentences have now condensed in my mind as an elegy to the lost promises of youth, to the unabated acceptance of things as they have come my way. When I think of it now, the gaze- his gaze, coupled with that curl of lips which unnerved me no end as I sat in front of him, seems sort of beautiful in retrospect. I am definitely not meeting up this person again, for being unnerved in an alien company is not an experience I would rush myself towards. For that, I might hate him, but for the warmth which spreads through me as I write, I will definitely admire him.

Most of the worthy, beautiful things in life lie but a step away from us. May be they lie even farther away, but its that first step which we often deliberate too much over taking. By then, the proverbial butterfly has flown away, to a new abode. And we, we lurk right there, right at the edge, still hesitating to take that one step. Insecurities, fears, irrationalities- they exist in each heart, but whether we submit, or make them submit is what differentiates the ordinary from the outstanding. It is not a very well developed thought, but I want to leave it at that. I have found myself lurking at the edge of sunshine many a times in life. Now, with this little, abstract realization, I think I want to step into that sunshine, and open my arms, and feel the rays make my heart their home. Can't help getting poetic, foolishly may be, but it conveys the thought, right?

To end, I again found a painting by my favorite, Leonid Afremov. This one is called

Sun of January

 

Have you ever gotten a taste of your own medicine, as they proverbially say? I mean, have you ever landed in a situation which is like this giant mirror of your life, just that you see your own role being performed by someone else? And all this in a pleasant and amusing way, not with any masochistic or depressive undertones.

It happened with me, at the beginning of the 'month of musings', as I call it. December, as insinuated by me in Flakes Of Love, is that month where besides indulging in hopeless romanticism, I also take a stock of the big and small details of the year gone by. Right from the best books I read, to the people who mattered to me- I like revisiting things that made my year special. Introspection, on the problems faced, moments lived and lessons learnt is perhaps the most important aspect of this yearly catharsis of mine, and this post is precisely about that.

Unlike the previous years, this year's cathartic recollections began on an extremely amusing note. I am known to be this extremely insecure person, who craves undue levels of attention from people she loves. When that is not becoming, situations have been known to get ugly. At times, certain unfortunate friends of mine have been caught in pugnacious encounters with me without any apparent fault of theirs, specifically when even a tiny figment of my brain assumed that they've been sharing with a third person some part of their life which I rightfully think to be my own. Though I am learning to grow up, envy and a certain degree of possessiveness towards people I love have always characterized me. The closest to me suffer the most. Anger and tears follow. Acrimony, thankfully, is kept at bay.

So what was so amusing? The fact that I got a taste of my own bitter medicine. In one of the most harrowing situations in my life, I entered into a confrontation over issues of attention and insecurity where I was on the receiving end! It would've seemed implausible at one time, but it did happen. And the person wroth with me, wroth because of hurt feelings of extreme love, was my mentor. She was the first person ever in life I looked upto, and I know I fell in love with her even before my brain acquired sanity. She is much elder to me, and as much as I wanted to see my future in the strength of her character, she liked seeing her own past in my childhood achievements.

Maturity is often confused with passivity of emotions. May be that's why I was dumb initially when I saw that unmistakable hurt in her eyes caused by my callousness in loving her enough. I was in disbelief and denial. Here is how I defended myself in my thoughts- How could she feel hurt? How could she doubt me? She should know that even though I don't lurk around, I always hold her dear, shouldn't she?

Well, no! She is not obligated to assume that I love her, if I do not care to show her enough the love and concern I hold in my heart. Her getting hurt is not her fault, it is mine. The disbelief and surprise was soon replaced by delight, translating into a smile on my lips. I felt really good in my heart. Firstly, because of the realization that I mattered so much to someone, and secondly because I kind of felt at home. When I threw similar tantrums in front of others, I was assumed to be immature. So, I vowed to 'grow up', implying that I vowed to close myself to such extremities of emotions. No more! I smiled because her one outburst assured me that I wasn't some abnormal being always sulking for attention. Her words were my words, used many a times before. My problem is that I verbalize my thoughts too easily and too often, and ride an emotional high throughout my existence. It is the reaction I get which makes me doubt the very person I am.

I narrated this incident to a friend late at night, with palpable alacrity in my heart. It was a weird state state of excitement. I ended my narrative with these words- "and there I stood, smiling, but with absolutely no idea what to do now!". His query- "So, what will you do now? In fact, is there anything at all that you can do?". Poor chap, his query was obvious. He has been the victim of my outbursts way too often, and this is what I had to say to him- "I will now do everything for her, which I expected others to do when I put them in the same spot. No matter how hard I try, I cannot erase the bad memory, the hurt-that is how it works with hyper emotional beings like myself. But what I can do is to lurk around, and create enough happy memories to make that bad one inconsequential. She matters to me enough to put in that effort, and it is just that I need to let her know."


Lost somewhere within the pages of my journal was a five point mantra I devised for myself long back- more like compiled from various sources. This incident, fortunately, compelled me to find it once again. These five points were put together by me in not some gloomy-reflective condition, but in a state of perfect bliss, when I wanted to pamper my self, and feel proud of the person I am, but with responsibility. Time is good to share it on my blog. This constitutes my treasured lesson from the year 2011. They are not some divine secrets which promise a glorious existence- but five simple lines which if understood simply do have the potential of helping screwed up situations get a little better.

1. Stop lying to yourself. Harms no one but you.
2. Ask for help. Give your near ones the right to interfere while they still can.
3. Do not rationalize, i.e., do not make excuses for yourself. There cannot be a good enough reason for failing to do what you did not.
4. Count your blessings. List your motivations and rewards. Naive, but  has the awesome potential to make you feel great.

5. No matter how hard you try, you cannot change the person you are. When it comes to that, let go; with an understanding that holding on and letting go are divided by a invisibly thin line based on personal discernment

I think the best note to end this post on would be a painting by my favorite, Leonid Afremov, titled

Expectations of Love!

With a light jacket hung loosely onto my shoulders, I stepped out of my house, like I do daily at ten thirty at night. It is my time for an after-dinner stroll. A step up the stairway, and I found myself smiling, as if something good was going to come my way today. I had not even reached the terrace door when a pleasantly chilly gust of air greeted my face. My loose hair were blown back, and I felt my smile intensifying. The winters I was missing so bad had finally knocked at my door.

Winter, indisputably, is the most romantic of all seasons. Delhi winters especially so. Early morning fog with its musty smell, afternoon rays cascading down to mark their feeble presence, or the extremely chilly nights yearning for the warmth of a lover- winter with all its solemn hues entices hopeless romantics like me. Numerous scenes are automatically added to the fabric of a love story I'm trying to weave. Yes, I am trying to put together a love story. At times for real. At times in just the landscape of my imagination.

Ambling on the terrace was more pleasant than usual today. I was walking through the chill. My hands stretched the jacket to tightly wrap it around my body, but my nose was more than glad to be exposed and breathing in the smell of winters. My mind felt calm, and felt rich. Rich with memories of love. Memories for real, and memories conjured.

In bits, I felt lonely. I have always pictured myself in the warm, cozy embrace of someone special as I open my eyes to a lazy, reluctant morning. In the very next breath, I see myself adamantly returning to slumber, sinking deeper into the same embrace. Sharing coffees by the window, and sharing clasps on a long, aimless walk down the road- these common visions seem to acquire new definition when a fog-rich background is added to them. Lazy smiles. Ceaseless hugs. And beautiful nights. Sigh. I did feel lonely. Acutely.

However, I was not open to any gloom today. Winters, eluding the Delhi air for so long, were finally making their presence felt. Under that fast enveloping feeling of loneliness borne out of an acute urge to share my winter mirth with someone, I desperately sought some pleasant distraction for myself. Finding none, I thought it best to plan for an ideal, still 'single' winter. What would be the best options for living a memorable winter, for a romantic who finds herself still single in the city?

Books-romantic fiction strictly.
Coffee by the balcony-a single mug, of course.
Stroll in Central Park- early morning, to miss the sight of all those lucky couples.
Piping hot tomato soup- at D'pauls, warmth and pocket comfort simultaneously.
Journal entries- amid outdoor beauty, Lodhi Gardens or Agrasen ki Baoli.
Clothes- greys or whites, dark or subtle, intense or calm.
Quilt comforts- with a remote and nice love story on tv.

And if all this love is not potent enough to suffocate me, may be I would spend some time reflecting on yet another closing year. The bests of it, the worsts of it. The achievements, the lessons. The friends, the best friends. December is like a mischievous damsel- it gives me the most beautiful painting of nature to gaze at, it gives me the most salubrious weather to feel rejuvenated in, but it also lends me a powerful craving to have someone near by, and even before I know it, it fills me with the gloom of having to watch another year go by.

I have not even finished writing this post, and I'm already receding into imagining yet another scene which will hopefully fit into the love story I'm writing, for real or not. You, my dear readers, I would be indebted to, if you could suggest something new for me to do these winters, given that I am not occupied anywhere else. If for you winters are not just another passing month, if you romanticize them as much as I do, what would you do to make them absolutely special ?

Shubh Deepavali

 So, here. The festive season begins with full gusto from tomorrow. A little prelude to this Great Indian Festive Season is provided by the Dussehra, Diwali sets the pace, and all the brightness, gaiety, and celebratory fervor finally culminates into the arrival of a brand new year, heralding with itself brand new hopes and aspirations. I especially wait for this time of the year- when the weather is perfect, the mood is happy and time is ripe to rekindle old associations. Visiting relatives, calling up friends and exchanging gifts- besides the pooja, these happen to be my favorite aspects of Deepawali. However, since the past few years, as I have been gaining consciousness, I have also witnessed a marked decline in what was supposed to be the very purpose of these festivals- togetherness.

The morning of my Chhoti Diwali began with a text, not from a kith-or-kin, but from my efficient mobile service provider. The information intended for my perusal was that the standard rates of smsing would apply on 25th and 26th October, and it being the auspicious festival of lights, the upper ceiling on number or sms per day would not apply. Wonderful. This meant that more messages than I expected would be coming my way. And this, is not a very welcome thought for me.

I am not much of a texting person. True, I send out a lot of texts, but they are the last ditch attempts at keeping in touch with people who are too busy to make/receive calls, and way to busy to find time for more personal interactions. We are so preoccupied in life with I don't know what that even festivals are not spared the brunt of our busy schedules and our new age techniques of keeping up. Diwali, Holi or Christmas- the way we share wishes and happiness is by sending texts. Corrections- not sending, but 'forwarding' texts, in bulk. This serves as the perfect death of any personal touch, any warmth which is intended to be conveyed. I on my part (and a few other people like me, who I hope do exist) only cursorily glance at these texts. What I do read with a smile are the names of people forwarding me those texts. Rudely enough, I do not always reply back. Cutely enough, I call as many of them as I can. Not everyone picks up- the poojas, the socializing, cracker bursting keeps them busy. Everyone I have not been able to reach out are finally texted- and I type and send texts, not forward them. Somehow, I can't bring myself to.

There was a time when cards labelled 'Season's Greetings' would be delivered by the postman on our door, and a corner in the house was reserved for displaying these greetings. They were tangible, not like the e-cards which have an expiry of 15 days from the date of sending. Each person was wished personally, either through a warm hug, or a chirpy greeting over the phone. Diwali wishes were not posted perfunctorily on one's status for the world to itself take notice of. It is all very sad, especially for people like me, for whom keeping up with the pace of the progressive deterioration in relationships is a daunting task. Our families mandatorily command our presence; and what is not mandatory is easily ignored.

When in tenth standard, there was this particular question in English literature which used to be important from the board exam point of view. "Festivals keep humanity afloat. Justify." This was supposed to be answered with reference to A Christmas Carol, the last chapter in our English text book. It might appear naive, me ruminating upon what I did write as a high scoring answer in an internal exam, but all the points I argued are seeming more valid today than ever. Festivals are really about coming together, taking out time to do those things which the usual drill of life forbids us from doing. And I do not allude towards mindless partying in the least. Deepawali, in particular, is a festival which celebrates the homecoming, the re-union of our greatest mythological hero, Rama with his kingdom- akin to his extended family. We would be blessed if we could preserve the original spirit of this festival; that of sharing; that of dispelling darkness, that of making special people know that they are remembered and cared for.

If not for my exams four days hence, I would've had a really busy day ahead. Beginning from my Nanaji, to my school and college friends, each one would have been called up, and inquired after. I will make a few special calls though. And wait for a few special people to call me up before I call them.

For all my blog readers, warmest Diwali greetings. Try and abstain from formal forwarding this season. Visit people, call up friends, get updates on their life. What better time than now to share those genuinely missed smiles. Be not crippled by the all-pervasive facebook. Nothing matches the happiness on the face of relatives you meet, nothing matches the ring of laughter you share with your friends over the phone. Take out time, light Diya's with your family, and this darkest night of Shravan, make sure you dispel all the darkness from you heart. Have a happy and prosperous Deepawali.

May they shower their choicest blessings on you

A majestic smile, and some fond tears in my eyes.

We do it often, don't we? We all have our favorites, we swear life long fealty to them, we promise to keep them forever close to our hearts; and then, as we encounter newer things on the path of life, we leave them behind, without so much as a glance back. Actually, we never realize we've left these things behind. Things we can call our ultimate favorites are perennially present in our hearts and minds, but are locked away in some obscure corner of our being. Books, pictures, songs, scenes, quotes, dresses, dialogues, silly childhood memories, and even people- all capable of becoming our favorites, all capable of being lost.

Anyway. This post is not to become philosophical. This post is to express my mirth at discovering one such long lost favorite. Its a song, one that I would hum all day long, no matter how much it irritated the hapless listeners. The first time I heard it, I did not just like it, I knew I wanted to listen to it over and over again. A contestant of Indian Idol sang this mellifluous track originally sung by Ustad Sultan Khan (as I later learned), the Sarangi maestro whose charisma in singing is as good as his uncontested dexterity in playing the Sarangi. While she (Indian Idol contestant, season one, Aditi Paul I guess) managed to serenade the audience with her rendition of this song, she left me restless. I wanted this song. Technology which makes things accessible at a mere click was elusive to me at that time. This automatically led me to harry my friends continuously till one of them, equally fond the same song gave it to me on a CD. Some years back, I lost the CD. And with it, the song.

Today, I found this song back while surfing some random videos on YouTube. It felt like meeting some old friend again. Understandably, I was beyond happiness. Kate nahi raat mori....piya tore kaaran. Some memories of school days were rekindled. I remembered loathing my best friend for choosing to sing this song in the Annual Talent Hunt conducted in our school. I wanted to sing this song myself, but had to compromise and sing some ludicrous bollywood number. I won the talent hunt, but winning by singing this song would have been more special. I made a silly resolution that day- when my would be in-laws ask me to sing, as my naive brain thought that was customary, I would sing the same song. And, the song is so awesome, copious accolades would be the only natural thing to follow.

Am listening to this track still, and then as now, my eyes are a little moist. They always become when I hear the second and last stanza of this song
Bheega bheega mausam aaya,
Piya ka sandesa laya,
Manwa ko chain na aawe,
Tarse hai mori raina


These lines are a perfect example of how a fantastic song can lift you above your present surroundings, and transport you to some ethereal world, infinitely more pleasant and pleasurable than the place you are in. Preceded by an interlude which breaks to accommodate sounds premonishing rains and thunderstorms, these lines, set to a heart warming tone, in the rustic voice and accent of the Ustad Sultan Khan, always make my heart grow a little fonder. I can feel the rains. I can feel the pain, the bereavement. Beauty, I can confidently say, lies in the simplest of things. This song is a simple composition, very easy to hum, but it will refuse to leave your mind for quite sometime after it enters.

The song definitely stirs up some sad emotions within me. The perplexing thing is, those sad emotions are always accompanied by a warm and comforting smile on my face. The song makes me want to miss someone, miss him without any acrimony, miss him with love.

Wonder where I had lost this beauty all this while. Now that I have it back, I am searching for another song which holds almost the same significance for me. It is by the same singer, who sang and composed it in his debut vocal album, Sabras. The problem is, I do not remember the lyrics, but I can distinctly remember the music, the notes of Sarangi are playing in my head even now....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SAWvlqsUzNM&feature=related
(Link to the YouTube video of this song. Not much of a video, but a lovely melody indeed.)

For the past twenty years of my life, which is the whole of my life actually, I had made myself believe that I loathe colors. I still do, yes, especially the bright, opulent shades, specifically in the segment of clothing. I am definitely not a member of the gawsy brigade, those people who try to project offending cheerfulness through the clothes they wear. I like to live life in more sombre shades. I prefer to dress up in grays and dull blues. I even like my pictures in black and white, or at max, sepia.

So, when I put up this picture as the my blog's header sometime back, doubling up as my blogs identity, I was initially skeptical of my own decision. But then, the colors in this painting wielded their magic. I was literally stupefied, and left to gape at it in mute admiration. So, there it remained, adorning my blog, making it look pretty.

I often develop a child-like fondness for things. From a child's perspective, everything appears big, appears magnified. So is the case with me. The moment I become fond of something, I attach to it many superlatives which totally justify my predilection towards it. When this painting started hypnotysing me and its colors began coruscating in my dreams, I, besides extolling its beauty in, again, superlative terms, was living under the illusion that this is one-of-its-kind painting, and that I may never come across another like it. However, my myth was soon dispelled by the contemporary divine entity- Google- which has answers to all questions we ask, sometimes even those questions which we don't ask.

A few days back, I stumbled upon this picture. Purely by chance.

The style of painting seemed similar to the one on my blog. Even though I am no connoisseur of art forms of any kind, the ease with which the artist had played with colors seemed very familiar, identical even to the painting that had so far been ruling my mind. After probing a little more, with a few random keywords, on, of course, the monolith of all information, Google, I was able to trace the painter who painted both the above beauties. And, many more.

Leonid Afremov- A search by his name on Google images opened a whole world of unbelievable splashes of color in front of my eyes. For more than an hour, I just kept on staring at his different creations. Just looking at his painting made me happy. Many of them were similar. I guess this Belarusian painter has a penchant for painting boulevards, with couples walking down the road. His paintings have immense depth. I could imagine myself walking down the same boulevard with my love. Two of my most favorite paintings of this category (besides the one on my blog's header) are these.

As I look at these paintings, I can't help but once again marvel at the blend of colors in them. In the both these, what I especially like is the way the lamp light is softly illuminating the scene.

Besides painting long roads and multi hued trees lining them, Leonid Afremov also has a clear proclivity towards paintings couples. Couples, presumably in love, appear on most of his canvases. I should not use the word 'presumably' here. His couples are visibly in love, often, passionately in love. And this, is conveyed very elegantly in his paintings. Check out these two for example.

So this Valentines, because I have nothing better to do, I will allow this brilliant artist's grand creations to haunt me. Event though I adore the above two paintings, these are not exactly the ones I would like to see in my dreams. The ones, which actually transport me into a dream land are the ones which depict couples with more subtler shades of passion engulfing them. In fact, in those paintings, what is depicted in place of passion is togetherness- long enduring togetherness, the kind of companionship I could kill for.

The first painting is may be the kind of Valentine's date I would want for myself- a private time together, in each other's casual embrace, discussing a million things which make us perfect for each other, confessing and reconfessing our love and completely losing ourself to the beauty of the moment.

The second painting is titled "The Last Date", and hence, for comprehensible reasons, makes me feel sad. Love forms an indispensable part of my existence, and whenever love is wounded, I can't help but feel sad.

Anyway. Hats off to Leonid Afremov. I hope that someday I am able to buy at least one of his creations, because I have turned into a big, incorrigible admirer of his. For all the right reasons for sure.
(Thanks for making me fall in love with colors again)

It's after long that I have gotten down to blogging. The reason for that, simply, have been the rains. I have already published blogs about rains, and still, the most prominent source of inspiration as far as writing is concerned , has only been 'rains'. Today as well, it is no different. Rains definitely form the back drop of my narrative, but, the perspective has altered. The joy associated with raindrops touching my skin has long disappeared. Now, there is a shadow of gloom forever marking my face.

The rains have continued for far too long. Or may be, it is the first time I am perceiving them that way. Hindrances to already delayed constructions works, traffic snarls, puddles, difficulty in commutation- if you(the reader) think these are the sources of the absent enthusiasm in my heart, then you are highly mistaken. These are the things that I laugh at. Then what is it that is letting this tangible, yet incomprehensible melancholy fill my being?

A single peek of sun from behind the clouds makes my eyes shine with alacrity; but this revelry is rare to visit my door. I was sitting today for really long in CP, by a huge window, which gave me the most spectacular view of mud hills lining the roadsides, cars of every color and brand stuck in an unending ennui, white colored Victorian buildings damp and their paints chipping, and a grey, almost-black canvas of a huge cupola of clouds, which seems to have sworn sun-protection to all citizens of Delhi for quite some time now. I was sitting and sketching the scene in front of me. Not that i am good at drawing, but i was just trying my hand at being a bit destructive (of the beauty of the scene), a bit disappointing (of my famous sketching abilities) and a bit disgusting ( to my companion who himself is acclaimed at wielding magic as he draws).

Anyway, point was, i was doing it, and in a very sudden, or rather, unnoticeable manner, an unmistakable feeling of grief started springing inside me. I tried to fight it, but i sensed my mind submitting to it. As a natural reflex, the first thing i did was to figure out reasons. My jejune brain first held Ghalib culpable for my condition. Yes, you are right, the same, old, Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib. Why, i will tell later. I was almost about to take punitive measures against his long deceased soul, when i was held back by an expeditious onset of slumber. It was in that sleep i found answers to my heart's unease. It was a dream...a dream which made things lucid to me...dream-

"I was sitting on a hillside. My favorite hillside. The air was damp. Sun nowhere in sight. The valley was green; it's depth not calculable. Cottony fluffs of clouds were rising from deep down. My side of the hills were iridescent with flowers of variegated hues smiling from both corners of my eyes. I was sitting quietly looking blankly at everything around. Only my eyes were peculiar. Water was running down my cheeks. I am not sure if it were tears, because my heart was devoid of emotions. I felt no stabs of sadness. I only cried. Suddenly, a divine person came into the picture. Filled with clemency, benevolence, and sure 'answers' to my discomfort, he came and sat by my side quietly. I said nothing, just stole a sideways glance at him. He was dressed in casuals- green T-shirt and denims. He had a white, perfectly chiseled face. His hair and eyes were unnaturally black. His lips were pink, with a cleft which could be missed sans close scrutiny. He started gazing straight ahead, where the view of the opposite hills was being blocked by the nascent clouds. He sat observing the clouds. With no warning, he raised his fingers as if a seasoned pianist is preparing his agile fingers for a concert. His fingers started moving in incongruous patterns in the air. I was about to ask him, but he shushed me even before i could utter a word. Gave me a glance which conveyed- "patience". After about fifteen minutes of this queer activity, he gave himself a satisfactory smile. Then, he kept one hand over my head. He said, in his soft, echoing, almost a chime-like voice- "Clouds are my most formless creations, but when I make these clouds my canvas, and my fingers the paintbrushes, my mind can picture them in a thousand different shapes and forms and meanings. I gave these clouds nothing. I gave them a transient existence. But then never complain. They utilize their short life giving shade and hope to the others. When they die, they weep- the only, and the final expression of their grief. But, even as they weep, they lend smiles to many. People are glad for the water, relief, rain, respite but no one cares for the very clouds who carry these droplets safely till they are delivered at their destination. But, they carry on, continue, persevere." His gaze pierced through me as he said the last word."

I did not even see this divine creature walk away. I was woken up as we were getting late. I saw the unfinished sketch lying in front of me. I raised my head for a final gaze, intending to finish my sketch, but the only detailing i added to it were the grey, almost black clouds in the background.

Mr. Ghalib, aptly, can find his mention here. He writes the most beautiful lines, and has this uncanny, unmistakable ability to stimulate that corner of my heart which hitherto was latent. This time, the lines were as follows-
"Dil hi toh hai, na sang-o-khisht, dard se bhar na aaye kyun?
Royenge hum, hazaar baar, koi humein sataaye kyun?"
(It is only a heart, not stone or mortar, why should it not fill with grief?
We will wail a thousand times, why should anyone torment us?)

For me, a better translation of the above lines is- The heart is heart, it will weep. Why should anyone be critical of my grief?

I walked down the footpaths of CP, trying to fathom my dream. May be I did. May be the Almighty was fed up of the incessant tussles i have with him, and wanted to talk about the many basics that i ignore while censuring him for my mundane problems. May be he was genuinely concerned with my listlessness about where to head as i found myself without support, care, concern, love and understanding from anyone i hold dear. And then, he sent me this quote in my Gmail inbox-"You desire to know the art of living, my friend? It is contained in one phrase: make use of suffering"

Whatever it meant. Whatever it was. One thing I will surely laud Him for is the medium he chose to communicate with me. This one voice, i can never ignore. Never.

It was one of those days again. Exactly one of those days. Grey days. Blue days. Whatever they are called. Days, when i ask myself too many questions. Or may be one single question. I let the question(s) take root in my mind, become a part of my subconscious self, assimilate information and experience required to arrive at an answer...and then, answer blossoms in my mind even before i know it.

However, what i was thinking, rather, asking myself today, was both, unwelcome and perplexing. To add another word, the specific time i chose to reflect and concoct answers, also made this question ironical.

"Why do friends become so important to us in life, that after a point, it starts hurting?"
(In case the paradox is not ostensible, it is the first Sunday of August today, which the world celebrates as Friendship Day)

I woke up in the morning, and cast a half open glance at the slightly ajar door of my balcony. Hardly any light was coming in. It was dark, overcast, I could make out. I pulled my knees close to my chest, tightly wound my hands around my bosom, and gave myself the warmest hug I could, to counter the effects of the chilly air flowing into the room, and then sprang out of bed. With eye lids refusing to cooperate, i somehow managed to locate my slippers, but accidentally placed my feet on the icy floor. Within a matter of seconds, a current of chill ran up my legs, and my spine, hit my head, and culminated into a smile. The same, old, faint, silly- my favorite smile. Thus i proceeded on my 'arduous' walk to the balcony, ten heavy steps....

I collapsed on the cold balcony floor, in an attempt to embrace what nature was offering. It was colder than inside the room, so i brought myself closer together, once again pulled my knees to my chest, and started imagining the aroma of coffee beans. Had only been a second, when my 'pet' tree, right across my balcony, broke out into a dance- gracefully swaying side to side first, and then going wild, mad, to the tune of the flowing breeze. My tree was welcoming me to become a part of this private celebration of nature, whatever was left of it amid the chaos of brick and mortar which we call our 'habitat'. Having performed the invocation, my tree invited all the other trees, and birds, and clouds, and winds, and rains, to join in this mad revelry, and they all gladly acceded.

What then ensued in front of me is not in my capacity to describe. Any other person would have described it as a heavy, torrential shower. But, was it just that? There were people down in the street, scurrying in all directions to look for a shelter. Hapless people. The more fortunate of us homo sapiens were the half naked street kids, splashing in the puddles, laughing, shouting, dancing....being purified, washed clean directly by the heavens. I broke into a subtle laughter at their sight, and started enjoying the raindrops being tossed in my direction after hitting the balcony railing. I was happy. Innately happy. Infinitely happy. These weren't just rains. This was the most basic and personalized invite that the heavens sent to all of us, to, for once, abandon our synthetic existence, and befriend nature. I did.

I sent a 'thank you' in the direction of my 'pet' tree, which has been my friend ever since i shifted to my current accommodation. Initially frightened by it's eerie silhouettes in the dark of the night, it soon became my companion for the solitary moments i spent in the open, often understanding and sharing my thoughts. Today as well it was listening, as i asked myself a question, and then quickly rubbished it. This very question had caused an immeasurable disarray in my interiors about a day or two back, but today, it was inconsequential. There was a reason to it. And i want that reason to know that it was the reason for the calm and balance i expreience right now.

I met a friend yesterday. A friend, who has forever been a friend, a close friend, but separated by large distances. When i felt cold today, i remembered the warm hug my friend gave me yesterday. When the damp weather's chicanery was coercing me to become gloomy, I rememberd this friend's laughter and his concern for my happiness. When strange thoughts were complicating my routines, i rememberd his simple ways and his humble eyes. I was elated, elevated, and infinitely comforted.

At first, I could not recognize him. He appeared from amid a crowd, his bag hung over one of his shoulders. I knew he was coming, that is why i was waiting for him, yet, the first glimpse i caught of him was laced with disbelief. I was still not humble to the fact that i would, finally, be getting to spend time, in person, with him. He looked better, smarter than ever i had known him to be. He in no way looked dapper, all his charm emanating from the casual, easy way in which he carried himself. His manner was courteous, yet not even a feeble measure of formality streaked his demeanor. His smile was contagious- i call him my own brand of "happiness pill". The best thing about him- he made me feel at home.

He made me realize that dubious questions, such as the one quoted in the beginning, are nothing, but a travesty of the word 'friendship'.

Sitting diagonally across me, with a hot cup of Mocha in his hands, (and a semi alcoholic Irish Coffee in mine), he incited me into self dialogue as to why such a special friend is to be separated by such long distances. We jabbered incessantly about everything that came to mind. We took short, reflective breaks to understand and absorb the importance of the time being spent together. We gave each other little gifts, for this is the only time of the year we could meet, but those gifts in no way could amount to even an approximate measure of how loved we wanted to make each other feel. "The more I think it over, the more I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people." The artist inside me was failing me. I had wanted to tell him so much more, hear so much more, share so many thoughts, tears, laughter....

Time for departure was too quick to come. I was sad. Little. I was happier to have met him. He has a little thing about him, which revives my faith in everything good and positive around me. I live for my friends; but when it starts getting too much, he inspires me to perfect the balancing act, and not sway to the extremes. The people i love, and begin to hate because of unfulfilled expectations, suddenly become blame free, and i give myself a slight rebuff for letting negativity brew in my head. The good part is, despite being benevolent and magnanimous, he never makes me feel indebted. He says its mutual, and i comfort him as much as he comforts me. I like to believe it. Its so easy to be friends this way. He holds infinite respect for me, as i for him, and while respecting each other, we learn to respect every other good thing/person in our life which deserves to be respected.

My tree still stands there. It has noticed the droplets forcing their way out of my eyes. In its reckoning, i was infinitely happy, so why the droplets? I don't know. May be i am sad for not having been able to give him a last, warm hug as he disembarked from the metro at Rajiv Chowk, and mumble an apology. May be i am happy (mushy-happy), and i have been happy for so long that it can no  longer be contained inside me. May be i am both. One thing for certain- this friend will remain with me, even when that tree dies down. If ever he goes away, I will understand that there must be a reason for it. This season, and the next, and the next...i'll remember to smile whenever the rain fed weather's beauty is beyond description, for it is on one such day, i spent the most marvellous moments of my life with you.

Keep my faith breathing....