'Happy Island'

Sometimes in this mad rush of normalizing life we often forget the inner insane heart which abhores the mundane normality. The madness needs expression yet we choose suppression to get the sense of security from the unknown faces;our heart yearns to know them. The stern faces with unbreakable boundaries express constant negation for your heart to enter. Still we live disillusioned waiting for the day when our heart will break the boundary. We are indefatigable workers, so we continue to break our heart in that futile attempt to be understood . After a while it becomes too painful to give that little space to the wounded organ in the body. We decide to kill it, get rid of it. It so happens that we become normal again. We are successful, normal and busy in the mundane reality of lives with the pieces of the wounded organ dissolved in the universe. We are the 'happy' Island.

Salaam Bombay!

In past few days, I could relate very well to what Steve Jobs said about love,

If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of heart, you'll know when you find it and like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on.

My first impression of Bombay was from bollywood. Growing up in tier 2 cities, I saw Bombay only in TV. As a child, I was scared of Bombay. It was a land of tricksters. It was a land where people would go to become Amitabh Bacchan and disappear somewhere. The ugly Bombay of ‘Slumdog Millionaire’ full of deep shit, land of haftavasooli, and child abuse, it will always shake me to the core. I still remember the time when Gulshan Kumar assassination happened; I was so scared to see the news on the TV. I never wanted to go to Bombay. Life in my small quaint city was good. Bombay was not real.It existed in idiot-box always.

The twenty four year old me landed in Bombay for the first time. It was a halt for half a day. The only thing that caught my notice was women getting down from bus a 12.30 am. It surprised me. I am so used to stay in state of terror in the national capital or for that matter in my home town also. I have had never smelled air of freedom. How does it feel like to roam at night? I kept looking at the woman from my window and slept with the question in my head,’ How does it feel to roam at night?’ That question erased my hatred for Bombay.  My sub-conscious was getting to know the answer.

I returned to Bombay after five years. Walking alone with my suit-case, I came out of Bombay- Central station. The narrow slim roads, and high rise buildings and sea-link, Bombay I was in love this time. The taxi driver started narrating me the story of how he found his life in Bombay. He came to the city some thirty years back as a laborer and never wanted to go back to his village in Uttar Pradesh. He just quipped, ‘Madam dilliwalon ko Bombay mein kaafi accha lagta hai.’ I smiled and was thinking ‘I am not dilliwali, I am from Uttar Pradesh. We have the same story.I am in Delhi for the same reason, you are in Bombay. Just that I am not in love with Delhi.’

After our run in Sanjay Gandhi National Park, I had the first vada paao of my life with Thumbs-up. I posed and got clicked with Thums-up. The little kid in me sang, ‘Thums-up the taste that thunders.’ It rained cats and dogs. She and I ran to catch our local to Chhatraapati Shivaji Terminus. This had become a daily routine. My Bombay friends will often ask me,’ why do you take the train to CST every day? What do you do at Colaba? Is this what you took leave for?’

After tying that religious wish thread in Haji Ali on the first day of Ramzan, She and I sat at marine drive. Life has so many questions. That big wave washed them away. No I did not get the answers for my questions. It was like that grandmother’s soothing touch on the head which reassured,’ It will be allright.’  To my left was young couple sitting holding hands, chatting and kissing in between; to my right were youngsters,probably celebrating their new job; at the back was Trident,  where the  elite stopped.’ Bombay is so slim, it accommodates all in so much less space. People sit so dangerously close to each other, in the trains, at marine drive. Same is the case with cars. A friend says, if Bombay had infrastructure of Delhi, life would have been so good.True but then love is unconditional. I embrace Bombay with all its stink, humidity and terrible traffic.

After that customary  halt at Leopald, we again took a taxi back to Powai. It was 12 midnight. Of the best things in life, Bombay has offered me that smell of freedom and that sense of association with everyone around . Words cannot do justice to small joys of life. 

Bombay, you are my latest love. It is not the love at first sight but the one which grows with time.

 I will be back soon.

Eat, PRAY, Love

In retrospect, the second half year of 2013 has been the one of the most luxurious and decadent life, I have lived. For an otherwise ascetic person with tremendous control, such splurge and lavishness came as a pleasant surprise to me. It was pleasant because of tremendous joy I experienced but decadent for reminding me of the ‘dark ages’ from the European history classes from school.

 The history of such sudden change dates to an year back when I had a sudden heart ache. My mind decided to take control. So it decided to follow 3 NJs: no junk food, no junk thoughts, and no junk clothes.  The three NJs came as a sudden rescue for my sixty inches structure weighing 154 pounds. That structure would refuse to budge without thirteen hours of sleep.  Excessive running was the enabling strategy to achieve ‘no junk thought’. With these NJs, I scribbled some goals in my diary. The indefatigable ascetic worked every minute to achieve them. The end of year showed a positive trajectory to all the goals.

In the midst of 2013, the weighing machine whispered once, ‘116.6 pounds.’ Adding to it, my friends told me, ‘Are you in love? You are so chirpy all the time.’

There was no looking back then. The tickets to Paris were booked; to wine and dine. Samosas and rasmalais were back. The ascetism evaporated in a second. Such was a power of weighing machine’s whisper. So July to October was making up for the tremendous loss in the past year. Samosas, Golgappas, Tikkis, Gaajar ka halwa, rasmallai, paranthas and in Europe; blue wine, pink wine, red wine, white wine, home made wine and of course cheese.  November meant weddings, so more eating and shopping. From Chandani Chowk to T - Nagar, my footprints prints seen in every shop. You name it and I have it; Blue, red, green, turquoise, black and gold.  That ephemeral moment of dressing up for two hours everyday and changing make-ups, that defined November.  End of November; it was time to speak to the enlightened master; the weighing machine. She whispered, ‘135 pounds’.  My heart was cold and again the same ache. The asceticism condensed; ascetic was back for rescue.

Ascetic decided to pay for the entire splurge. The first payment came in the form of first half marathon.  The shooting pain reminded that what life worth is of if not this pain. This was also the time to empty the wardrobe; donations and more donations.  This also meant no shopping in the sale season. That was the toughest punishment so far but I successfully lived it.  Even after all this, there was a burdening guilt. I did not know where it was coming from. Even weighing machine was silent this time.  Now it was the time for dermatologist to talk, ‘excessive stress, lack of sleep, grey hair, and hair fall’. I decided to speak to ascetic and he said, ‘Give life a chance, get surprises, stop planning, Stay in zero, observe faith’.

I was sitting in the Golden Temple in Amritsar. Like a curious child with my goal diary, I asked trillion questions to ascetic, all he said. 'Shhhhh!’ To the same curiosity, Hermen Hesse answered me in the speeding train,

What could I say to you that would be of value, except that perhaps you seek too much, that as a result of your seeking you cannot find.

Amritsar, you answered all the questions in once. 

Resolution for 2014: Feeling the beauty of breathing

I had this enlightening conversation with my superior in the last week of December on sense of time. He asked me ,'How important is sense of time for you?' I pondered and said, 'very important' and then mentioned the list of things I usually plan for the day. Generally, I am quite obsessed with filling up every minute with something. I have a restless brain of a child which is becoming all the more restless after the fitness schedule I follow. I find nothingness scary. I almost cry when I have nothing to do. Bel far niente is not my cup of tea. I am heading towards third decade of my life at the speed of light and my restlessness is growing at the exponential rate. I thought all this was a matter of pride and glory, until that discussion.

I see him as a father figure or rather grandfather figure. He said, ' Time is of no use. Actions are not important. How you stitch them together is of utmost importance. What is the use of ticking things is your check list, if you did not get time to stop, breathe and feel the joy? Is it just achiever's ego which means happiness to you? Shouldn't you find more depth in the happiness?'

I have been thinking about my new year's resolution. I am slowing down and contracting my 'to do' list. I want to feel the beauty of breathing. I have my first resolution of the year; 101 Suryanamaskars by end of second quarter of 2014.  :).Currently my count is 50  in one go.

Sun salutations: Unleash the power within you gradually.