Sunday, May 28, 2006

A trail of memories

I open my mailbox tonight and find an invitation from a friend to join an online community named Orkut. I promptly join in. And for the next few hours I just keep digging out faces from it - people whom I had once known, talked to, shared a laugh with, made a bond, and then forgot. Each face I knew carried with it a trail of memories...

It amuses me much to see that they they are now scattered all over the country (some abroad as well), doing pretty well for themselves, and moving ahead with life. But I somehow cannot associate with their new looks. I can only think of them as I had seen them in the hostel corridors, classrooms, canteens, college fests, cricket matches, or even in the Lovers' Lane. But then we have already spent so many years without seeing each other that even if we meet now we will probably end up behaving like strangers. Well, it might sound a little harsh but this is the way it is. I don't know what all has happened to them in all these years, neither do they know what all has happened to me. We are no longer the same persons we used to be. And there's nothing good or bad about it, actually. Just need to accept the change.

Well, this post is not about the end of good 'ol friendships. Rather, it's about rejuvenating ourselves with a healthy dose of nostalgia. I myself have, after a trip of Orkut, come out refreshed. And as I'm writing this post I'm smiling alone, thinking of all those memories of ecstasy and agony.

PS: Thanks Somnath for inducting me to Orkut.

Saturday, May 20, 2006

When it rains

The moment I came out to the streets this morning I could smell rain in the air. The overcast sky and the humid air announced imminent rain. And I didn't have to wait for too long. Halfway through my regular cab ride to work raindrops started pattering against the glass panes.

I don't know why, but whenever it rains everything become so silent (or perhaps I overtly romanticize it). So all of a sudden I could hear nothing but the mild drone of the moving vehicle and the gentle tupur-tapur of raindrops. Then, as we were driving past a row of golden amalataas trees silently standing in the rain, I just lost all my hearing senses. Rains sure do strange things to me!

Now, I hail from a place where a week-long incessant rain is viewed as a pretty normal occurance in summer. By that standard Delhi rain is minuscule. But it still never fails to make me run out of my senses. After all, rains have always amazed me, rejuvenated me, gave me hope and made me happy again. Unfailingly.

I don't know how many of you have ever been woken up by a midnight rain or have silently stood by the window watching the raindrops falling into darkness. Trust me, it's sure to do strange things to you too.

Monday, May 15, 2006

Spooky Sunday

After a few abortive attempts I finally commit myself to make a post today. There isn't really much to write about though. I'd been more than busy with myself of late. Didn't feel like looking around. Stuck up quotidian pettyness, as they say. But however mundane it might seem on the surface, isn't there a story being interwoven around us everyday? And when I try to pursue the story around me, life doesn't seem so boring after all. Well, now you see why I don't get bored so easily. (I can sit alone for hours without doing anything, and yet not get bored. You can call it lazyness, but I don't care. I'm rather inspired by Garfield, you see.) So next time you see me sitting like a lazy bum with that blank expression, don't get misled; I might as well be contemplating something profound.

Well, last Sunday I was working in the office (yes, on a Sunday!) and suddenly it struck me how spooky the whole floor looked like. The whole place was dark and dead silent. And being fertile on imagination I started thinking what would it be like if I find something lurking behind me, breathing upon my neck, whispering in a nasal voice. I even imagined myself being trapped inside a dilapidated haveli. But however hard I stretched my imagination I failed to see the lady-in-white-saree-candle-in-hand-singing-a-haunting-song sequence. But I haven't given up as yet. Maybe next Sunday I'll have a better luck.

Now, can't you see a story here?

Who says working on Sundays is no fun?

Friday, May 05, 2006

The day after

Here I am writing my second post. And I have already ran out of words. But more than the unruly words it is perhaps my extreme self-consciousness which is holding me back. Why is it so difficult for me to be just me?

Came home early today. Spent the whole evening indoors (as usual). Read some of my favourite blogs (utterly enjoyable they are). Heard Farida Khanum croon "Aaj Jane Ki Zid Na Karo" (unbearably romantic). Also Dire Straits' "Sultan of Swing" (simply cool). Saw Pramod Mahajan's funeral photos in the newspapers (a buried pain resurfaces). Think of something else to do (a necessry change of mood). Go out and have a chicken roll, one lassi, a butterscotch icecream cone (mood uplifted). On my way back a long-forgotten old poem suddenly comes to my mind (I remember only the title). Thanks to Google, I locate the poem (satisfaction). A beautiful love poem (from the famous beat generation poet/songwriter Rod McKuen). Here it is:


I wanted to write you some words you'd remember
words so alert they'd leap from the paper
and crawl up your shoulder and lie by your ears
and be there to comfort you down through the years.
But it was cloudy that day and I was lazy
and so I stayed in bed all day just thinking about it...

I wanted to write you and tell you that maybe
love songs for lovers are unnecessary.
We are what we feel and writing it down
seems foolish sometimes without vocal sound.
But I spent the day drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes
And looking in the mirror practicing my smile.

I wanted to write you one last long love song
That said what I feel one final time.
Not comparing your eyes and mouth to the stars
but telling you only how like yourself you are.
But by the time I thought of it, found a pen,
put the pen to ink, the ink to paper,
you were gone.

And so this song has no words.

- from Listen to the Warm, 1967

PS: I think I will 'internalize' this and reproduce as and when required, just in case I desperately need to impress 'someone'.

On a day like today

This was long overdue - a blog of my own. So what took me so long? I can think of at least two reasons while I am writing this - I am too lazy and I am too afraid to commit myself. (That, sort of, sums up my my personality.)

It even beats me why I took the plunge today. Till yesterday I myself had no clue about this. But knowing myself I find this so typical of me; this blog could not have begun in any other way. I love unceremonious and unexpected beginnings, you see. Where's the fun in being so calculative and measured all the time?

Well, now that this blog comes to life I just hope it survives to see through the initial hiccups (I am a little skeptic, though).

I formally welcome 'wordswalk' to my life.