Collecting the scattered pieces of me.
I met this guy on a train journey to I-dont-remember where. For the first 2 hours, we just awkwardly smiled at each other, when our eyes met.
Then, we avoided each other all together, facing the window, earphones stubbed in ears, swaying with the train and the music in our heads. I guess he too was listening to music too.
The aunties and uncles, with whom we shared the compartment were busy with their non-stop discussions. May be they were meeting after a long time for someone’s marriage. Marriage in India is almost a festival.
When the tea seller arrived, we all asked for tea in unison, apart from the guy. I didn’t have change to pay the tea seller, neither did he. So, no tea for me.
Then the guy pulled his thermos from his side and offered me. Initially I hesitated but then I gave up, (duh! It’s tea).
For the rest of the journey, we spoke more than those uncles and aunties.
We became tea-buddies.
My grandmother never recieved any flowers from my grandfather in any occasion.
But he made sure to plant some flower twigs next to the well.
In the winters, when the marigold blooms in its full glory, he would hold them together with both hands and sway over her face. The flowers still intact to their stems, would sprinkle water on my grandmother’s face, when she sat by the well.
My brother once got some flowers for my grandmother and she sprinkled water on them and asked him to sway over her face.
Then, she said, “Maza nahi aya!” (Didn’t enjoy!)
There are pain, which time keeps reminding us of, like the broken knee from the fall, I learnt to ride a bike.
When the name of the place accidentally gets a mention, where my heart was broken for whatever times.
Then the constant pop-up of the reunion cards in the month of May, which I deliberately archive but never attend, for whatever reasons.
Then the first drop of rain brings along the painful memory of getting fired.
“Should I play music?” The cab driver asked.
“No, I want to read my thoughts or maybe nap,” i replied.
30 minutes went by, he didn’t honk even once, carefully navigating through he dropped me at my destination.
I had only blinked once, and dreamt of a distant grandfather during my short nap.
#cabchronicles #chroniclesofanapper #serielnapper
Hey Fall!
Some days i forget the name of the person i am thinking about,
And then the next day or after a couple of days, when I am bathing or on my way back home or during my evening walks or while staring at an empty isle in the local store,
I recall their names but then i forget their faces.
Once in a while I can point out their peculiar features, one after another with so much ease,
Then the very next moment I forget why I am thinking about them at all.
Our association is getting erased inch by inch,
I am the one walking on the rope and then forgetting how to stand on my feet,
I am losing my memories little by little every day, and I cannot do anything about it.
just like the trees that stand helplessly counting,
their leaves fall one by one,
until there is none.
It’s fall,
We are on the same page again,
curling toes in fear,
coz it’s the season of losing one and all.
Memory is a tricky thing.
As we move ahead in our lives, accumulating bits and piece of moments, etched in our memory, to carry them to graves.
But age intervenes and rolls it’s dice. Sometimes blurring these memories, while sometimes leaves them on cliffhangers, to edit it as we please, only to realise later that, noone cares to adventurise it, unless asked for.
And when asked, it’s way different from original. It feels all concocted with lies and dishonesty. So memories are best when shared with those, who were involved in making it as one.
In “An artist of a floating world”, Masuji Ono, a retired artist is constantly battling with his own memories. His paintings during the WWII had gained so much recognition for him but there were constant guilts, doubts and suspicion running underneath. He is having tough time connecting with his daughters, especially his younger daughter during her time of marriage negotiations. His conversation with his grandson Ichiro, clearly reflects the generation gap while still connected with a common thread.
It takes mammoth amount of courage to swim against the stream which he had done in his growing years as an artist, in all his capacity.
Kazua Ishiguro beautifully reveals the human side of the characters and narrates organically, the friction between them brewing.
काग़ज़ी दिल मेरा
ये काग़ज़ी दिल मेरा,
लोग आते जाते अपने नाम लिखते हैं,
फिर कुछ दिनों बाद,
या तो वो नाम खुद अजनबी बन जाते हैं,
या फिर मिट जाते हैं,
को जाते हैं,
कहीं सिलवटों पर।
ये काग़ज़ी दिल मेरा,
जाने कितनी यादों को समेटे बैठा है,
किसी दिन ज़ोर की बारिश हुई,
आंसुओं की लहरों के चपेटे में आगया,
और कमज़ोर होगी इसकी सतह,
रात भर मोमबत्ती की लौ को देखती रही मैं,
ताकि उसकी गर्माहट से सुख जाए,
इसकी सतह।
ये काग़ज़ी दिल मेरा,
सपनोंऔर कविताओं की पंख लगाए,
उड़ जाना चाहता है,
एक आजाद परिंदे की तरह,
पर जाए तो जाए कहां,
नाज़ुक है न, नादान सा,
ये काग़ज़ी दिल मेरा।
कभी फुर्सत मिले तो,
आजाना पढ़ने किसी दिन,
वो जो लिखा है और
लिख जाना वो जो नहीं लिखा है,
साथ में एक फूल लेते आना ज़रूर,
पन्नों के बीच में कहीं छुपा जाना,
ये काग़ज़ी दिल मेरा,
रखेगा संभाले उस फूल को,
जैसे रखा है तुम्हारी पंक्तियों को।
Turtles all the way down by John Green
The story is beautifully narrated and one can actually relate with Aza, the protagonist of the story. It speaks volume about people dealing with mental illness and about those who are part of their lives, like best friend, mother, and an almost boyfriend.
People will support tirelessly and will try to understand what goes on inside a person suffering from mental illness but there are layers to it.
Somedays the support will wear away a little bit, and understanding can take some rest but It doesn’t make them bad people or their love any less.
And for the one suffering it, is dealing with so much more underneath those smiles and laughter. Somedays the feeling strangles them so tightly that they can’t even confront their own feelings to themselves, and they actually do not know the right way and right words to express them.
There is no proper answer or a procedure to follow what’s the right thing to do.
My take away from the book:
Sky gazing
बहने दो ना,
मत समेटो इन लहरों को,
न ही रोको इनको तुम अपने शब्दो की बांध में,
ये बांधो में बांधने वाली नही हैं।
कहने दो ना,
कभी सुनलो तुम भी मेरी बातों को,
और जवाब में अपने किस्से मत जोड़ों इनसे,
कुछ ख़ामोश लम्हों को बैठने दो हमारे दरमियां।
बदलने दो ना,
पुरानी सी हो गई हूं,
सिलवटे पड़ गई हैं मेरे अस्तित्व और अभिमान पर,
अब थक सी गई हूं खुदको समेटते समेटते।
उड़ने दो ना,
कबसे बस घड़ी के कांटे की तरह गोल गोल घूम रही हूं,
कब सुबह हुई, कब रात होगी, कुछ नही जानना मुझे,
बस आंखें बंद करके उड़ जाना चाहती सारी झंझटों से दूर।
quotemadness