Tomorrow: a wonderful place to be

DSC_0364It’s next time once again, and I still don’t have anything interesting to say. My plans are still in my head. Tomorrow is this wonderful place that I never reach. I am drowned in a lifelong of todays. Somewhere, deep down inside of me, a voice tells me, it is good to be at least dreaming of this wonderful tomorrow, that it is what lends you hope and the strength to wake up smiling every morning; but who am I kidding? That voice is just my way of procrastinating without feeling guilty.  Then the other voice chimes up. The depressing one, which reminds you that your wonderful tomorrow is a hoax, because you haven’t really done anything to deserve it, and are not focused enough. This voice at least eventually leads to something constructive. Because, then you list down all the steps you have taken to bring you closer to at least one of your dreams. It may be as small as cleaning your cupboard or pruning your small collection of plants. I think this is the reason some people always start their serious work sessions by cleaning up regime. If only I could stick to one single regime.

For me, one session might start with a cleaning up regime, which I will abandon halfway because I have had an idea, and that needs to be executed immediately. Then the next time, I would just keep sitting in a mess because I have no time to think of anything else. If I make out any pattern of my working style, it is last minute panic. That just sets it off. I envy the people who can put out good work effortlessly. You know the kinds who get up in the morning, know exactly what needs to be done around the house, read the newspaper and take a shower. They get dressed and head for work. They work till the evening. Head out, meet up and socialize, come back home, and all the while produce great work. I’ll tell you the secret. They don’t give up when they are bored or low. They go on. And so do I. I will start

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enjoying the walk to that wonderful place

finishing my mini projects. As soon as I clean up my cupboard and do the laundry.

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Kintsuki

IMG-20150105-WA0004When I said what’s broken cannot be mended, did I mean that we cannot have a long fruitful relationship? Or did I mean that lifelong relationships are perfect, and no mistakes are committed on either end? The Japanese perfected the art of mending broken objects, kintsuki, in which the fault lines are highlighted. The important thing is not to try to hide the broken edges, but to highlight them; to be proud of your differences, and to celebrate the bridges. You lose the innocence, but you gain beauty, that is the beauty of memories and stories; of standing together even when you hated each other.

That is the beauty of lifelong relationships. We start to appreciate each other’s differences. We find peace within ourselves; the one inevitable relationship we have to maintain!

Work from home!

It’s been a long time since I had an urge to write. To be honest, I am here today only because I saw the journal, and felt a wee bit guilty. The thing is that there is just no time. Or let’s put it this way, there’s plenty of time, but I just can’t manage it well. I want to do so much, and all of it all at once, it’s like god forgot to the basic planning  software in me. I want plants in the garden, with fairy lights entangled among creepers. I want every inch of the wall to be filled with sketches and every room filled with flowers. I want clean kitchen and neat cupboards (I also want this to happen magically by on its own). I want to play and swim, and go for long walks on the beach, have a cup of coffee while reading a book. It all is so idyllic. The trouble is, often when I would make myself coffee, I would be too busy imagining how idyllic it would be to sit in the veranda, reading the book and sipping coffee, to really get any time to read the book. Then the outside would be so distracting with crows on the tree and dogs on the street. Often, I would end up reading a couple of pages, without really taking anything in at all. I store movies on my hard disk, to watch when I have time. But when I do have the time, I spend it day dreaming, about all the wonderful things I would do. And the cycle starts again.

Maybe, next time, sometime, I’ll have something more to write about, than my rumbling thoughts…..

A warm summer afternoon

One day I will write a story. There will be flowers and sun, and water and green, and it will be oh! so beautiful! The moonlit roads would be walked by lovers holding hands and antique windows framed by bougainvillea would glow by the light of the candles. Peacocks will run through shaded courtyards, and girls in colorful skirts will laugh and dance, while the men in sober hues would pay compliments with their music. Grannies would sing lullabies and children would fill the air with their innocent laughter, and the gentle aroma of freshly crushed spices and barbecue in the open.

Oh! If only I could pen down my thoughts! But, no words come to my mind when I sit to write; it’s only when I let my mind go free, and just lie on my bed, thinking about all the things that could be; when there is no book, or tv, or work, and I just sit in a corner, images flash through my mind, one after the other, waiting to be strung together in a thread. Oh! One day, for sure!

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Kshanbhangur

It feels like a long time back now, during my school days, I had come across a short story in Hindi. I do not remember the name or the author of the story, or even its content. What I do remember is this word, “Kshanbhangur”, and I am haunted by it; not in a tormenting sort of way, but the word keeps popping up in front of me now and then, when I’m sad or happy or just excited. It gives me hope, stops me from putting everything in one basket, makes me smile, makes me be patient, and tells me to be cautious, all at once and separately as the situation arises.

“Kshan” means a moment; “bhangur” I think means fragile, or destroyable; hence the word “kshanbhangur” means that which lasts in the moment, and would be gone in the next. It is like all my relationships, intense when they last, but they fade away and leave me stranded. But the truth is, if I try to hold on to them, they become futile and troubled. What’s broken can’t be mended, the fault lines remains. Sometimes, they dissolve. You miss them, but you can’t have them back; they are gone forever, they remain in your memory alone.