South.. The Spring of My Life

At the age of 17 I left the comforts of my home to settle in what will become my second home for the next ten years. And it will remain my home away from home, forever. I can say I grew up as much in Mangalore and Bangalore as in Chandigarh and Delhi. And its my life there that makes me what really I am today.

Early morning temple bells,
rangoli at every entrance,
the flowers in the hair,
jasmine in the air,
inherent simplicity of people everywhere,
akka and amma,
thick moustaches,
a bindi for every girl,
the extra 'h' in names,
sounds of the sea,
warmth of the sunsets,
rains that never end,
summer breeze that chills,
the high of filter coffee,
melting-in-the-mouth idlis,
some really tender coconut water;
strains of 'mungaru male' from the distance,
every moment, a memory.

I know I am home when they ask me, you've arrived aah?!!

That home is a precious chamber in my heart. I find solace there, just thinking about it, whenever it gets too tough, mundane and tiresome.

Quoting Rabindranath Tagore here..

'This day my heart seeks not
To count that which I never got.
Today, amidst the light and shade in my soul,
There plays that music still.
I did love this earth,
Yes I did love it.
And the memories of those flowers
that blew in with the southern breeze
Still lingering on..'

Cry a Hearty Cry

Academic failure. Friend's betrayal.  Family falling out. The aching heart. Broken dream(s).

There is blood, so we bleed.

At the age of 27, I am sure now, life can get brutal.

And am also sure that each one of us 'has seen a lot in life'.. And no pain hurts the other lesser.

The highest of highs. The smaller, more constant, joys of life. The lows. And the dungeons. Each experience of life merits a blog (!). And this is about life in the abyss.

The event may follow a boring pain, a looming fear or may be totally unprecedented.

You can never be mentally prepared enough. I was never.

There is loss of blood in the face. The heart pounds. The gut wrenches. The legs tremble. The feet are cold. When there's sweat on the forehead.

And then comes the lump. The choke. The choking choke. Which anatomical layer of the neck holds and develops that, I do not know. Yet its presence longer than a few hours or a day makes  me painfully aware that I'm falling. How I wish I could dissect that layer.

We all know how it feels to smile with that lump. Or say a bright, 'hey! how are you?!".. And we admire our bravery. We run away in a corner to release the choke, because our bravery arouses only self-pity.

I have given a lecture with that pain. Seen a hundred patients in the OPD. Stared at questions in the paper for other answers. Walked lengths and breadths in shade or sun, feeling just as cold. And sweaty. I have envied people laughing away in front of me.. Will I be that happy again? What makes people so happy? I know.. I've been there too.

I have rushed through the day's worldly affairs to run to my room. Locked the door well. Found the cornerest corner and sat there so I can atleast start weeping more easily. Clutched the Hanuman Chalisa.

Then I go to the bathroom. Look at myself in the mirror. The same that I used to smile into and be amazed at my happy beauty! Damn! Am rather ugly!

I look for bits of happy foods.. Chocolates or cookies. I drink some water so the glands remain hydrated.

Music is forbidden. Cell phone is the worst creation of mankind.

Its a lucky day if people do not come knocking.

There's no appetite for food. Atleast we can loose weight more easily now!

Making sure all are well asleep and the pillow is comfy, I lie in fetal position. They say you were most blessed and peaceful then. I swear! And then I let go. I cry. And more. I breathe. Slow and deep. And then I cry some more. Bury myself in the pillow. It becomes difficult to breathe. What with the nose clogged and the mouth stuffed. The voice becomes hoarse. And then I care a damn. I howl. I cry a hearty cry. I feel healthier with every bout. It makes me stronger to dare and curse God. Why me.

The night helps. Crying well helps. I wake up braver for the day.

Love

To love and be loved is a complex state of existence. You are not just you. You have a half that adds more and perhaps even a better meaning to your being. There is an extra dimension to each and every aspect of your life (even your past.. that was just a story to be shared!). Everything, anything ever about yourself, makes more sense with it. You are achingly incomplete in its absence. You so don’t mind the lesser there is of you in yourself. There is love, therefore you are.

It uplifts you. You fly. You soar. You feel the continuous warmth of the sun. Music plays on end. You smile long. You feel more beautiful. You always have company in solitude. The day breaks early and the night runs longer. Every moment of the day is in levitation. All of the above endlessly. Love uplifts you endlessly.

You reflect. You long. You dream. Even when you have it all. To have more. Just some more more. It fulfills you so.

You jump in his happiness. You bleed more in his pain. You are more tired in his fatigue. You dream more when he sleeps better. He makes you want to love him more. Love makes you a better person. You are selfless. You discover you have so much of love to still give away. To just see the other happier, more complete, more easy. And there seems no apparent reason why you wanna do this or why you feel so. Or perhaps there are a thousand. The basic, guess, that  he gives it back.

Together you live the rollercoaster ride that life is. Scream, laugh, hold tighter and longer. Look back. Watch ahead. Look at each other. Look down. Smile. Your footsteps are in tandem. You walk further, fearless. The pain that comes around is, and will always be, worth it. The love, if you have, or ever had it, the look, the smell, the sound and the touch of that hour, will make you feel warm forever.