The Now.

For once I want to draw and I don't want it to be about symmetry or shape. I want it to be blurred and foggy and mildly reminiscent of intangible, unidentifiable memories. I want to paint, not with a brush, but with my fingers and a knife, and I want to not care about the outcome. Once, again, I wish to be a word stuck at the back of the head that becomes a whole story, and then a whole new life, a whole new existence, a whole new me. 

Inhale. Exhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaale. Inhale. Exhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaale. Inhale deeeeeeply. Hold your breath. 

*And never ever let go.* 

"Life starts with a deep inhalation which triggers the baby's first cry, and ends with a long exhalation at the time of death. So life is just the space between a deep inhalation and a long exhalation. And when we do Pranayam, we try to bring in this life, this prana." Such an astoundingly beautiful analogy! 

I have brought some discipline to my life. Long walks, Yoga classes(finally), visiting and teaching in a school on the weekends, and right diet. Yet, something is amiss. Something elementary. 

I am unable to write, or frame sentences. I will have to wait. It will come back. It always does.

December 17, 2011

Some more interesting pieces and footnotes from the journal written in December last year:

There are times when you wonder if you know yourself, if all that you so solemnly believe in, is actually true, if the love that warms your heart is just self-deception, aimed solely at easy, less painful living. And then, you ask yourself again, why we always blow the future out of proportions, what is, so peculiar about the unknown, that is not about the present, the certain territories? Why, if you can laugh and love now, do you think, the same traits would not suffice for future circumstances? Worry, is a dangerous thing, more deceptive than deception itself. And since when, did we become wise enough, to avert misfortune anyway? What is meant to happen by providence, will happen. Que sera sera.

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Guess I will just lie down a bit. For I am tired, of loving, of being what you want me to be. The ways of your world, they tire me, really; they don't cause me anguish any more. They just cause fatigue, deep, calm fatigue, to the point that nothing I think of gives me joy or sorrow any more. I am tired of searching for meaning in all the absurdity, and running, and running when I don't even truly seek the bourne. I will just breathe a bit, and warm my senses, for they are cold and disillusioned, and deeply, hopelessly lonely. I wish my pursuits were just mine to have, so I could just kneel down and weep by a quiet fireplace somewhere, and then repose, for a long time, in slumber.

November 11, 2011

Another journal entry from last year:

And when all is said and done, I want to be able to say that I lived a happy life. That I looked forward to living every moment of it. That sometimes I didn't do what I was supposed to do. Sometimes, I escaped, I failed. But most of the times, I followed my heart. I let it take me on its beautiful adventures and I lived them. That I loved with all my heart, being aware that it can shatter me. That I worked on the small things in life because they always mattered the most to me. That I made sure to surprise those I love and I made sure to hide the truth sometimes to make them feel secure. That sometimes I fretted for more freedom but at all times, I knew I was happier than most, and I never forgot to be grateful. That I believed in goodness and it helped me be good. That I also believed in the bad and the cruel and the unjust and it kept the blood flowing in my veins. That I strived, in my own infinitesimal way, to change. To change the world, starting from myself. That I never stopped analyzing my actions, because if I would, that is when I would stop to grow. That I took that step of asking forgiveness to someone I had hurt, that I felt my ego melt and love grow in that moment. In the end, I just want to be able to say, that I lived. In the best way I knew.

October 2, 2011

I was digging through some old files, and I came across this diary entry from last year. It's always interesting to read what you thought, felt and wrote about on a given day; it makes you see how things picture in the long run, how sometimes we place too much emphasis on things that are ultimately insignificant. Anyway, here goes:

"You can look at my house and tell the kind of phase I'm in. There is clutter everywhere, like in my mind. There are questions hanging like cobwebs from the walls, layers of doubts on the kitchen slab, clothes,like my thoughts are scattered. I wish I could collect myself, quickly, gracefully. I did not step out of the house till evening today, when I went to buy vegetables. And I saw that it had rained. It was still drizzling. I was too lazy to change so I was just wearing a jacket over the shabby top, and I felt the need to zip the jacket up at the vegetable store. I regretted that I came out after the sun had set. I hate missing sunsets. I think it is one of the most unfair things to happen that you were inside closed doors, doing nothing of much value, while the sky was painting a beautiful sunset for you. Last evening I accompanied a friend to the doctor, and we had conversations that lessened the burden on our hearts. She is a painter at heart, and an accidental engineer. It was like an exchange of songs between birds inadjacent cages. I explained my plans to her, and for a moment, they almost made sense. Talked to dadi today. I have not seen a 'proper' Durga Pooja for 6 years now. Thinking of DP still brings a smile. I remember feeling lost in the crowd at the Pandaals and clutching at Papa's hand. I remember planning which Pandaals we wanted to see by looking at their descriptions in the newspaper. I remember 'Shree Shree Durga Pooja Samiti' announcing, every year, that a child named 'Chotu' wearing navy blue half pants and a yellow shirt was lost, and that his parents could come to the announcement desk to take him. I always hoped he was found. I guess he was, every year. I remember being 13 and trying on a top I had bought for DP in front of mom's dressing table, and feeling 'beautiful'. 

I had a long chat with a friend yesterday, and we were talking about how life changes so quickly and suddenly. I remember reading a few pages of a book called 'Future Shock' which talked about how we as people might not be able to cope with the speed with which the world is changing. I guess that book was about changes in technology. But I wonder if its ok to live like this. To 'move on' and lock your past away in a black box. How do you always stop your mind from roving inside the restricted territory? If you ask me, I would say, talk about it, cry yourself hoarse, till a point that you are done doing that. That is the right way of 'moving on'. 'A' and I often discuss that we are a generation that has grown up in the cusp of change. We were there when telephones were becoming more 'common', cable TV had arrived, then computers, mobile phones, internet; in the process of growing up, life changed from street gulli dandaa to the point when you have a screen in front of you for everything. Somewhere, some part of me is still stuck in mango orchards and cassettes. I would have preferred a more 'gradual' change, perhaps."