From the Archives...

I had liked this a lot when I wrote it three years ago. Not so much now. All I can see now are the grammatical errors! :-)

Reflection

A murky state of mind, a melancholic mood, a gloomy feeling, an inexplicable grief surrounded my being as I stood staring at the night sky. Not a star to be seen, it seemed as if the heavens empathized with me.

A cool breeze swept past me, as if to uplift my spirit, did not serve the purpose, it left me cold, and more helpless than before.

There was a time not so long ago when a climate like this would enliven the romantic in me. A time when the eyes of the mind ignored the dark clouds and only noticed the thin silver lining, a time when the scorching heat brought confidence rather than pain. Not anymore.

A time when I craved for attention, for people around me, now I resented the very same people. Was it me? Or was it them?

Children playing on the street, they had so much to smile about, just like I had not so long ago. The gay abandon with which they played brought sheer happiness, evident from the glee on their face. The sweat on the brow hardly meant fatigue, if anything zest for living. The enthusiasm had not faded despite the dark clouds.

Dark clouds. Symbolic of my life. Did they in their child's play have a message for me? This was a stage when the mind had closed all its doors. In spite of knowing that the visiting thoughts would bring joy, the negative thoughts inside refused to let the light come in. The mind was accustomed to the familiar darkness and feared the unknown.

I stared down at the pavement from the balcony of my apartment on the 5th floor. I didn't feel suicidal. Just sad. The sorrow did not stem out of loneliness, I wish it had. I could have atleast defined my state of mind.

My armpits ached. I turned around to go, unable to stand on the crutches any longer.

I stared into my image in the life- size mirror. I felt crippled. It was one of his ways of telling me I was lame, that I needed support, his, and that I was not normal. He had never loved me. It occurred to me that everything he ever did for me was only to bruise me deep, so that the wound remained long after he was gone. The wound would heal, the scar would remain, forever.

I collapsed on the floor and broke down. I hated myself for harboring such thoughts about him. He came like lightening into my life, which until then was like a night sky with dark clouds, with pent up feelings, ready to explode. He helped me pour out my feelings, like the showers they came. Out went the dark clouds, in came a clear sky, tranquility like never before. I gazed at the reflection of his framed photograph. He was smiling, like always.

Like a whiff of fresh air he came, he went as fast.

Sleepless in Rohnert Park

It's 12.00 in the night and I can't sleep. So I blog-hop and somewhere I catch an old Archie comic cover and now I go Pandrah-saal-pehle....

Friends' Circulating Library opposite the East-West school bus stop. The librararian who would keep aside the latest issue of Sportstar for my brother. Walking to the library alone and saying "114-return" for the first time. The Archie double digests we would borrow only during weekends. Narrating a tale to my mom in Kannada and getting a tepid response. Returning the book late and hoping not to be fined. Cancelling membership.

Wonder who's 114 now...

Hmm...

Seems like yesterday, when I landed at the SFO airport one cloudy afternoon in November. And it's already time to leave. Time flies. Yes. Especially when Life is so Beautiful.

I just read that and it seems like a last post. :-) Well, it's not. Not yet at least. Pressed for time right now; thanks to shopping, packing, disposing stuff. Will come up with a better post to shut down the blog, if I ever do that! :)

Have a great day!

Unrealised Dream

The first few minutes on the first day of school were always spent in introductions. While some teachers were happy knowing just the names of their new students, others wanted to know their parents’ names and their occupations. Some were curious to find out what each kid dreamed to be when she was older, and sometimes why the chosen profession. It was evident from what most of my classmates said, that medicine and engineering were the preferred courses even back then.

I can’t remember what I said before I got hooked to film magazines. But after I started devouring film gossip from the glittery Startdusts and Filmfares, I was sure what I wanted to be. A journalist, as my brother had told me. What a life, they led, these journalists, I thought! They get to meet all the glamorous film stars that we can only dream of, sometimes in their lavish homes too. They certainly must have several pictures taken alongside the stars. What luck! Imagine, I’d get to do what I loved doing – write and also meet all the stars for free. This profession was made for me!

Soon, my cousins and my own brother, who always had a word of advice for their sis, said film journalism was not that great. I had to be a political journalist if I had to be taken seriously. That way, I could expose corrupt politicians and unearth ugly scams. The rich and the famous would be scared of me. Wow!

And then in high school, one teacher told me that I didn’t have to be a journalist, in order to write. I could pursue a ‘more suitable’, which probably meant more lucrative career and still write. Free lancing it was called. My biggest influence, my brother, couldn’t agree more. “You should take up Engineering. You can do a course in journalism after that if you still want to”, he said. I gave in half-heartedly.

I would peep out of the BTS bus window and look wistfully at the “Asian school of Journalism” on my way to school and back. And I would tell my mom that journalism was where my heart was. Being the more dynamic of the two, she once went to the school and enquired, to be told that they only offered post-graduate courses. We made a pact between us. I would graduate, in Arts like I wanted to, and then come back and take their entrance test. I would surely clear it and go on to study journalism. And I would be a journalist.

My mom was gone a few years after that and with her that childhood dream of mine. Today, the pact remains a memorable conversation between the two of us. And I constantly wonder if I should live it out for her...

A Longish short break!

So many things to write about. So much free time on my hands. But I can't get myself to write. Not now. Will come back soon!