Shooting Stars.

Of the people in my life, of those who've come, gone or stayed, there is a certain breed of people who are best remembered as 'shooting stars'. Just like a streak of bright light would be seen in close up in a little boys' big black eyes and the effect of which would be more pronounced when the shot would cut a little wider to his awe-struck frozen face as he slowly expands his eye lids to more absorb the moment in all its glory. Some people are like those moments. You see them, feel them and they enthrall you and amaze you, at their beauty, at the beauty they bring out in you, lifting you into a different and probably higher state of being and then... then they slowly or suddenly fade away. 

And just like a selfish mortal practical being, the natural instinct is to try and capture them, put them in a jar and keep them around. Only that the lesson that shooting stars loose all their brilliance when captured always comes a little too late.

I’ve been witness to a few of these moments. I understand that they’re rare. The heartbreak which comes with letting these stars be and move on from them is immense. Not only does the heart break but it consistently does so for a much longer time than other daily experiences. They reach down in the depths of your being and make you feel strands of feeling you never knew existed. It’s almost like you have a hundred other illusionary organs and body parts. You feel them and loose them in the same moment. There is always the oscillating feeling between happiness and contentment of a new discovery and the sadness of never having to get to experience the same again. I want to apply the ‘quick sand’ phrase to this situation but it miserably falls short. At least, in the moment, you can feel the sand escape through your fingers which maybe even leaves a few grains stuck to your hand. But this, this only leaves you with emptiness. An emptiness which can even be felt in the ends of my toenails.

But I’m learning. I’m learning to let go with a smile while still keeping the warmth in my heart. I’m learning to cherish these moments more when they present themselves. I’m learning to overcome my fears. I’m learning to mark every piece of my heart so I can put it back together easily. But I’m still learning.

So, this one is for you ‘shooting star’. I know you exist. I know you’re there somewhere in the universe. I feel you and imagine you lightening up unknown worlds in the far end of the galaxy. Maybe I’ll encounter you again or maybe you’ve faded away forever. But I’ll always be here, looking towards the sky, waiting…

That girl who has my heart.

I have vivid memories of when I fell in love for the very first time. It was magical. I can still feel that time when my heart used to beat so fast that I would have to put my hand on my chest to calm down. Sometimes, I would go weak in my knees. Rarely, it would be both and I would feel like a Bollywood hero about to die for love. I haven't changed much since then. I still look for love worth dying for. But she often pops into my thoughts, often without any warning or reason. I'd be doing the most mundane thing, like filling up water bottles to put in the fridge and almost like a film scene cutting into another, her kohl lined eyes appear before my eyes in close up, her scent filling up my senses.. like tear gas used to break a mob, it breaks up my momentary self into a thousand pieces. And as naturally, in the next moment, I smile to myself and get on with the water but it does, still, fill up my heart with love and warmth. 

The strange or stupid romantic fact is that I never told her. I never even made the effort. And I'm even more stupid to not even know why. 

I remember glimpses of her, of her cycling down the road, of her making funny eye gestures at me, of her silently walking back home in her school uniform, heartily laughing after winning a game... Oh, that laugh.. It could light a thousand lamps. I think I get my laughter from her. Every time I do, its a way of thanking her. And of course, my rosy hued memories are also coupled with my stupidities when in her presence, of making those phone calls to her and never really being able to say anything, of writing those endless letters to her and never posting them, of having the courage to make her a valentine card and dropping it in her mailbox. She was and is a rich girl, living in the upper creamy layer of society. And my only motivation ever of becoming rich and famous had been her. I remember being a fourteen year old riding his worn out bicycle and thinking of reasons I could not be with her. One of the main reasons was money and second was social standing. I didn't have both. I wanted to be with her and I wanted it like water. I felt my life would be worthless without her. I felt I would die if I couldn't be with her. It was my very own personal romanticized version of poor boy falling in love with the beautiful princess. 

My life was all about her. 

Still, I started working towards it. Inching my way into becoming my own person. I used to sit for hours and imagine my life with her, imagine the process of getting her, of how I would propose to her, of how we would be, of life and memories together. And all those thoughts and fragments of imagination converted into a profession and my bohemian selfish self took over. I started living for myself. But till today, I write and think of many concepts and stories. All of them end up being about love and the main character is invariably her. All my relationships are the way I would have been with her. It still is, in a way, all about her.

I owe my very existence to her. And yet, she does not know. She will never know. And I still don't know why I never told her. I don't know if that Valentines day card ever got to her, but I'm still waiting for a reply. 

Of reminiscences, nostalgia and home cooked food

Marriages in one's family, at least a punjabi family in Delhi, are really emotional experiences as I've come to realise. Its like a communal carnival making you feel a range of emotions. You think of the people who've played a part in your life, big or small. You recollect wisps of memories and try to put them together, savoring each one like a prized dessert from a secret bakery. And as I was going through these days, looking at those faces and taking in those smells, I realised, for the first time what being 'home' truly felt like. It felt like... home. 

Of a generation which has passed, children who have become adults, adults who have grown old or died out, of other peripheral people who have made homes, families and comfort zones of their own and even the chirpy stationary shop owner who now has his son to help him as he's too old...  all of these people make me want to think of my life, in the moment. In my reminiscence of the time now, many years from now, will I remember it with the same fulfillment and fondness that I remember my childhood with? Am I living...?

Keep Walking

Every couple of years, a time comes in my life, when I loose the ability to structure thoughts. And each  time this has happened, I've often written myself off, telling myself that I've really lost it (finally). There is a sense of relief which comes with writing your own self off the face of society. But then there is also the often glorified idea of 'bouncing back' which happens almost all the times other than the odd time when I was too distracted to notice.

Well... another such time is here in my life, one late festive Autumn in the ancient city of Delhi. I like the idea of being here at this point. This city has been consistently occupied since the past 5000 odd years and has seen empire after empire rise from nothingness and fall into ruin. In a way, its the perfect city for new beginnings or more romantically, rising from the ashes. I've circled half the world, exhausted my brain, put my heart in a deep freeze and I'm only left with this pure physical energy which most probably comes from my consistent love of food (and not from the strength of human spirit as some of my wise friends like to incorrectly assert). With so much energy to dispense, I'm following my old friend Johnny Walker's famous tag line, 'Keep Walking'. The man who came up with this for a whisky brand must truly be a genius, a man of 'heart'.. a man who 'understood'.

I've often been accused of being contradictory. And I am. Most of the time. It doesn't mean that I don't have a stand. It merely means that I'm willing to see all sides of an argument, even defying my own stance, and coming to a logical conclusion giving the heart and mind equal importance, sometimes even telling the mind to F-off. Who has ever been able to attach logic to the heart? I can't think of anyone from Nagasaki to Nagasaki who has. The best one can do is balance. And young and naive as I am and always will be (hopefully), I will never be able to. Reacting in the 'moment', being in the 'now', 'experiencing', 'feeling'... thats how I am, thats how I'll be. Trying to be otherwise is not good for me, that much my wise grandmother already taught me.

Lost in my little world, I am simply walking, not caring if I am in circles, if I stumble on a stone, if I come across a bridge-less river or if I find something which makes me pause for the moment. My senses are active. I'm taking it all in.

I will walk until I get sucked into the world again, only to come back to this beautiful state again.

A state where... the possibilities... are endless...

PunjDelMaraBiharEngli

I am a Punjabi from Delhi, living in Mumbai among Marathi's, working in a predominantly Bihari office and mostly speak in English. Never looked at my situation in this way.

So much for all ideas of identity and the likes.