Bombay

Something is definitely different about this place.

On the surface, it hasn't changed much. The old divisions are still the same. SoBo, the suburbs, New Bombay, everything else. Marine Drive is still Marine Drive. Juhu Beach and Chowpatty are still as crowded as ever.  Every inch of this city has retained its aura of chaos. When has anything about this city ever been pre-planned, when has it ever been static? Bombay has always been about spontaneity, contradictions, surprises, and the unknown. How else would millions of migrants have come to live here, accepted by the locals, and become the beginnings of a culture so unique, so dynamic and ever-changing? True, we migrants (or children, or grandchildren of migrants) still stick to some of our old idiosyncrasies. If, like me, you happen to have South Indian parents, you know you'll end up in Matunga every so often, getting coffee beans ground just the way you like it, so you can savour filter coffee at home, every day. But I digress.

Some things change for the better. But some don't. And what is horribly different about this place is the attitude that its people seem to wear. It's all very good to organize charity events and protest marches for various issues, but they don't seem to lead us anywhere. People are getting murdered and raped and tortured and criminals seem to roam free on the streets, and nobody cares about the madness the city is slipping into. The scary kind of madness, not the chaotic madness the city is so well-accustomed to.

Oh, if you've got money, you can lead the good life, and none of these things matter. Or so we think.

This city has always been so beautiful, and it does not deserve a fate so tragic.

A Realization

I'm told I possess astonishing levels of maturity and an ability to keep a level head in almost all situations. Normally, it takes extremes to make me lose my cool in public. Somehow, none of that works with you. Your mere presence takes away all of it, only to replace it with plenty of hyperventilation and excitement and most of all, silliness.

You've achieved nothing short of a miracle.

This is a point where I've understood that everything doesn't necessarily work out the way I want it to. Acceptance. Acceptance of something I'm not even entirely sure of. There's this voice in my head that keeps telling me I'm being silly, getting all worked up when I don't even know the truth. I'm too afraid to ask, strangely enough. I wonder why. I've never been afraid of asking you anything before.

Back to acceptance. No tears, no tantrums, no rants. But if I ever learn that this is true, I'm afraid I'll hate you for not telling me in the first place. Because I thought telling me was obligatory and came with being friends.

This does not mean I don't feel for you, however.

*sigh*

The past few days seem to have whizzed by rather quickly. Normally, I'd complain, but I'm rather satisfied with how I've handled things. I seem to have figured out how to tackle massive amounts of work and stress without drowning in it. None of this would've been possible without M. You're the one who got me to make a beginning. And then, kept me going even if it meant tolerating my frequent meltdowns. I owe you. :)

My head does feel a lot less cluttered. I'm happier than I've been in quite a while. It doesn't take much to make me happy. Lack of stress and talking to you are definitely on the list. Though the latter hasn't been happening at all lately. *sigh* Oh well.

After All That

I should just accept the fact that I'm terrible at this. 'Nuff said.

I don't like stress. No one does. It does not permit me to function normally.

My desk is so full of utterly random objects that I think it's a miracle I'm able to get any work done at all using it. I'm poring over books and my writing stationery is everywhere and my laptop is adding to the clutter. I suddenly feel like doodling but I can't seem to find any pencils at all, and then I remember that I'm supposed to be directing all my energy towards the mountain of work I have before me; I look up and see the 'Zzzzinnng' written in bright yellow on the wall, a happy reminder of certain memories and the fact that I must focus, and that allows me to get back to work; but my phone's buzzing every few minutes with questions about this and that, and then I realise you're in my head again and I can't concentrate with you buzzing around like static, and I want to talk to you within the confines of my brain but I'm reminded yet again that I need to work. But now my eyes are tired and I decide to give up and go to sleep; but even then you're flitting in and out of my dreams and when I wake up I'm really not sure what you were doing, and you're still buzzing around in my head like static the whole day.

Two words: mind control.

"I need to learn that from you."

I laugh it off.

Part of me knows that this is something I do not possess, I've simply learnt to keep a level head in social situations.

***

It's late, and I know I should go to bed, but the promise of yet another conversation is irresistible, so I force my eyes into remaining open. They've begun to follow a pattern now, proceeding along similar lines every time. Surprisingly, they're never monotonous.

I admire how some people can talk without having to think their sentences over a million times before they actually let the words escape their lips.

***

I've reached that annoying stage where all the tiny, insignificant things remind me of you. And I'm forced to face the reality of what an epic fail this is.

It's nice having you in my head.

Enough said.

Twenty - Eleven

What a year.

Three months of hard work. Hours of poring over books, writing and reading and writing and reading in endless circles, hoping that at the very least, some of it would eventually settle into my already overworked brain.

The feeling of utter relief when I handed in my last exam paper and the realisation that, yes, it was all over.

The confusion and madness that followed, and the surprises that came out of it all.

New beginnings, stepping into unfamiliar territory, surprising myself with the ease with which I seemed to handle it, new people, faces, things, lives.

Meeting some of the most amazing people in my life right now, the ones whom I have come to adore and really trust, all in the painfully short time span of a few months.

Watching how all it took was one person to transform me, and teach me how to let loose.

Dealing with daily mood swings that never seem to cease, and the effects of hyperactive estrogen levels.

Wondering if I'll ever find the courage to tell you about how it really is.

I wonder how twenty-twelve will treat me!




P.S Wishing all you bloggers a very happy new year :)

Winter, December & Everything Else

One, two, and three; all too soon, a hundred million words reduced to mere pretence; a few sentences, spoken once in a while.

Too much, too soon. Maybe I should have waited, given myself some time before diving headlong into what now appears to be an utter, absolute mess.

But it's done now and there's no going back to where we began. Nothing is the same anymore. And in spite of everything, I cannot deny the fact that you still occupy my thoughts as I sip my morning coffee, feet resting on the cold, dewy grass; eyes trying to see through the veil of mist in front of me; feeling the sun's mild warmth on my back. And I still manage to let my face betray the tiniest hint of a smile.