Revering Thoughts

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Category: Random Philosophy (Page 1 of 11)

What goes in my head when a trip ends-

What goes in my head when a trip ends?

“….it ain’t me..” with its strummings and beats fill my ears as the bus whooshes towards Bangalore. Selena Gomez is good. I never realized before that she sings this well. For me, she reminds me of  ‘The Wizards of Waverly Prince’. Aah! Disney Channel back in the day.


“….who’s gonna walk you through the dark side of the morning…”

I’m left to think of what I’m taking back from this trip. When you’re traveling alone, a lot of these thoughts come dropping by. Of course, the extra kilos and pictures, are a given. But, what else do we take back from a trip?

What do I take back from a trip?

The feeling of this place?

A sense of exploring something new?

Another place ticked off from the checklist?

Content for my blog?

Meeting people? And friends?

What is it that I’m taking back with me?

The bus stops to pick a few more passengers. As I notice other vehicles go past ours, I try my best to form an answer.

I’ve hated the feeling of getting stuck. Of not moving. This miniature depiction of my emotion is apt. Is this the answer?

Travel helps in knowing, if I intend to, I won’t get stuck. From decisions. From questions that life throws. I might end up choosing the wrong direction. Catching the wrong bus. Missing my bus. Getting delayed. Been there, done that. Fashionably.

I can try to not confine my boundaries. And even break the ones that I’ve set. Others haven’t.

What else do I take back?

The randomness of conversations. Ones you would remember as long as you’re part of it. You’ll remember the laughter. The faces. The sadness behind those eyes that they hide. The excitement of capturing something new. The people. Yes, them. I take parts of them with me. Imagine how they’d deal with situations. Making them part of my stories. The ones I write, the ones my reveries write on their own.

What does travel teach me?

A lot. And nothing.
I’m not being vague. This is how it is.

I’ve realized people, wherever you go, end up being a lot alike than we picture them in our stereotype. Travel helps break those very stereotypes. Language never seems to be the ultimate barrier. Communication isn’t limited by the language when you want to talk, get help or help others.

Travel teaches adjustment. Type of food with varying spice levels, adjusting to ways of answering the nature’s call, sleeping in different places, talking, listening or just learning more about cultures.

Sometimes traveling sucks too. Just like life does. The edited pictures might not tell the stories of those places. And they should not. It is a different experience for each of us and is so subjective. No one can live our lives. And no one can travel for us, but we.


The Cycle of Trials

For close to 2 minutes, roughly, I stared at my keyboard, instead of the blank screen like the usual. I could see the stains of my fingers on almost all the Twenty-Six alphabets of this QWERTY keyboard. And yet, some of these had been troubled more than others. While some looked ignored.

Q J Z X V B  

Yes, my non-magnifying eyes, managed to separate the most-used versus the less-used Keys. Quite a Job! Zealously Xeroxing Various Brain imprints of Scrabble words! Doesn’t makes sense, huh! Well, that’s what forcing myself to use these letters makes it look.

I will admit that being hard on myself comes naturally. Forcing myself to even accept a compliment with a ‘Thank you’ is like pushing too far. Gradually, becoming better at it, with practice, of course.

The natural way is easy. Just as downstream is easy. Like heading downhill is effortless.

Changing the course isn’t. Pushing against the current isn’t. It’ll never be.

People preach about getting out of their comfort zones to learn. Learn new things. Challenge yourself. Preaching comes easily to all of us.

I’ve gone in search of challenges, took them head on, and failed. A lot. Crushed. Scared. Reattempted. Failed again. Left the cycle many-a-times. Got back on the saddle again few-of-the-times.

Realization? The Challenge isn’t in the achievement. Or even the aspiration to achieve. It is that cycle. The challenge is the process and that process’ refinement to get back into that cycle.

Maybe I’ll get better at it someday. The hope shines the pathway. And if not? Well, I still love Cycling!

And irrespective of whether you like or not, the cycle will run its due course. Why not enjoy the ride?

peristence vs talent

Why is Persistence more important than Talent?

What is that common quality that all successful people definitely have?

Of all, the one which truly stands out is that of persistence. The determination to keep pushing. Pushing hard in the quest for their goals. May what come, they are always there, going hard as ever, striving towards their goal. For them, it doesn’t matter where they are now. What matters is, where they want to be. The end goal.

I’ve seen people grow. Strength to strength. All of their starts were all about following their passion. A passion for excelling in what they love.

Indeed, the knack of truly finding what you love is in itself remarkable. It isn’t based on what the society tells you is ‘the thing’ to go after but what your heart truly wants.

Some are lucky enough to find what they are after. Sorry, not ‘lucky’, strike that. They possess the clarity to see themselves become what they want to. A ‘clear’ picture.

Others spend ages trying just to find their true calling and along the way pick up excuses to remain just there.

Coming back to persistence. The differentiated quality that propels and separates the ones who succeed and us. Us, the ones still running the race to find out, whether we are worthy or not.

I know of people whom the world laughed at when they started. And in the general parlance, they were not good at what they were doing. You can say the world was justified in making fun of them. Only, that they persisted in continuing to follow what they aimed for. Becoming better day by day. And then, they were able to convert those very people who hated them to be their fans. This isn’t a one-off story. Neither I’m making this up to prove anything.

And I’m not even talking about guys who rose to fame on the back of bad publicity. The Dhinchak Poojas of the world. For the sake of not going wayward on what I want to convey, let’s exclude this kind as well.

The point I’m trying to make is, that if you find that one thing you truly want. Go after it. Don’t worry whether the world is going to laugh at it or not. Don’t worry whether you’re good right now or not. Focus on working hard to get where you want to. The end goal should be the one you have to be after.

And it’s going to take a lot out of you. You have to put your best foot forward. Every day. Every hour. And every minute to get there. It’s not going to be easy. Not all of us are born with an already polished talent. Talent, IMHO, itself is just a spark and it all depends on us to give it shape it into a fire and light up the world.

People surprisingly negate the hard work and persistence and attribute success solely on someone’s talent. That brings us back to the drawing board of putting all our hopes on whether ‘we have it or not’. It doesn’t matter whether at this point we have it or not. What matters is, whether we are ready to put that extra effort into making it happen.

I’m not writing this to preach and tell YOU on what you have to do. This is a #NoteToSelf on not stopping the hard work.

The idea of conferring the reason for success to ‘talent’ is bogus. You either work hard to get there or you don’t. Talent means nothing without persistence to work towards achieving your goals.

Of not having a singular thought

A rather troubling and yet not overbearing thought of not having a singular thought in my head itches the good part of my brain. The division of focus-from whatever that was present- into multitudes of vague directions appears pointless. And yet, there’s no other alternative I’d rather choose.

My to-do list of chores auto-expands and virtually snoozes while I keep myself engrossed into indulgences that tick my lazy self at peace. Delays. And more delays.

From a post-a-day run-rate of writing down thoughts that a few good people read and liked to piling on drafts that don’t see the click of the published button. To those who write would empathize how a stale thought that passes the expiration of the moment it has been written for is meant to be brushed under. My WordPress dashboard is that carpet.

The emotional mix is a collection of more colors than a packet of gems. Compartmentalized and yet overflowing among themselves. Seeping out in the front, occasionally. The art of a fake laughter and the forced calm behind the rage. I’m mixin-it-all-up.

From the hypothetical questions to a trip in the alleys of the past. All of it, just a few phone numbers away. Few kilometers away. Still standing, at the crease of a confused adulthood, ducking bouncers, learning to leave and missing out on a picturesque cover drive. Cannot risk getting back to the pavilion. Of course, that stopped me. As if.

At the diversion of the ‘what-if’ and ‘it-all-happens-for-good’, the choice of the road always comes back to the same point. Shifting balances when it suits my selfishness.

Everyone’s part of the story. The ones they know. The ones they don’t.

I don’t want to write all the stories, though.

The Morning Welcome

The ‘kaw kaws’ and the ‘cuhooos’, coupled with the bristling leaves play an imperfect symphony for the morning to arrive. The Azaan ended a few minutes back to just confirm the same. And if there was any doubt, the surkh color ensured that all of them were right. 

The weekdays don’t let us enjoy the morning. The arrival of a brand new day of work, looks over our heads. Bereft of any concern of ‘how-many-more-hours-can-I-sleep’, the weekend night adds this present along with other things it makes us look forward to. 

I know they say, ‘Weekends are over-rated’ and even I’d agree to it. But, perhaps these little moments are missed from being counted when making those statements. 

You can say that this CAN be enjoyed everyday. CAN, yes. Indeed. 

There’s no photograph that can truly capture this moment. My camera definitely cannot. My description of this, I hope, might. 

This transports me to moments before sunrise on beaches which I’ve had the privilege to be on. That sound of waves and the color changing horizon at the end of it. 

To one of the hill station where you view the early lights with clouds for company. That whiteness. Unmatched.

To even the Scenery we all used to draw as kids. The zig-zag mountains with the sun rising in between. 

I don’t have any of those views now. The vrooms of all the engines are already encroaching the silence. The cloudy, and yet beautiful, Bangalore sky isn’t helping in the welcome of the sun either. 

Maybe the moment is gone. Like how it always does.

My body clock is pulling me in on to the bed. The winds are giving mixed signals. Should I wait for the sun or sleep with you sweeping through the window ?

The Bangalore Sky

You’ve got to love the post-dusk magnificance of the sky in Bangalore. That view. The clarity. 

Blessed. We. Are.

I don’t know exactly what but there’s an intriguingly calming influence whenever I twist my head towards it. The flowing cotton clouds remind me of school projects where rolls of cotton was glued to the blue cardboard sheet. The things we did back then! For some reason we referred to it as KG cardboard and I still don’t know why. I was never that curious as a kid, anyway. 

I do feel that when I write posts like these , I’m updating the weather report. But here’s the thing, a lot of thoughts, mine and yours hopefully, are interwined with the vaatavaran. Try hearing vatavaran in Lisa Haydon’s voice. Just the voice, okay. Ramzan in progress, folks. 

Coming back to the sky. Yes, you beauty. What changed ? Like was the sky always like this or I’ve suddenly become the beholder to its beauty? 

Either way, you seem to be one good thing to end the day with. Considering how few other things are left, of course. Jugaad.

Listening to the gibberish while I type about you to the world. Or just a tiny fraction who seem to read it. 

You, the blue and the white. Stay awesome. 

The Mango Memories

Mangoes. As far as I remember, has been the favorite. More so because of its exclusivity to Summer and the nostalgia it brings when eaten.


Even as kids, the anticipation of the fruit was one of the highlights of Summer. I can still recall Dada reminding us of its price per kilo at the dinner. And of course, the rotatory policy of, “Who’ll get the Tenkaa today?” Tenkaa is the ghutli or seed of the mango and being the biggest slice of it, was usually in demand.

And eating the sweet mangoes, was not the only good thing about it. The variety of chutneys and murrabbas that Dadi made and the elaborate achaar preparation out of raw mangoes is still fresh in my memory. 

Guess, I’m still not old enough. 

Ammi usually had to struggle in ensuring that I eat lunch. But with these, her job was easier. At least till the stocks lasted.

When our month-long summer vacations ensued at Nanijans’, we-the VVIPs, had those small mangoes at plenty and Nanijans’  Gudamma was quite a big deal!

If you’re getting confused with the names. Apologies. I’m pretty sure, you must have eaten these dishes at home but with some other names. 


Aah! Don’t you miss that time when  the Dadis and Nanis of the world pampered you? And your siblings. Although, I’d like to think, I was pampered more. 

My Frooty-stories are the stuff of legends. 

Childhood was amazing because of grandparents. Even these memories attached to Mango is characteristic of that emotion. 

It was a simpler time! 

While mangoes might last a few more days, the memories will last longer! 

Coffee Cravings

Coffee cravings and Rains 

As the rain hammers down the trees and ensures electricity catches a longish break, I long for sleep.

But, of course! I’m lying.

My caffeine addict brain pleads for a cup to make it feel sane. Times like these, I feel that my sister’s advice of getting a gas-connection instead of the induction, seems about right.

All for a cup!

The laptop’s battery lasted till I finished the finale of ‘This is us’. A tear-jerker drama that is designed  with an evil intent of making you cry. Not sad, but emotional.

An outpour. And yes, the rain outside too.

I’m worried more for my bicycle parked downstairs. After months, it was serviced, and the ride back home has given it another wash. Not a good one, though.

Also worried about my neighbors’ late night singing. Believe me, it’s not improving. On some days, I feel like shouting back the same song in response. But I hold back. One bad singer is enough for the neighborhood of Ejipura.

While the wind acts lazy and the rain seems to have taken a break, I still await the light bulb to blink.

I won’t have that Swades’ ‘Bijli’ moment but at least I’ll brew myself a cup of coffee. Maybe.


The 2-Rupee story

‘Yatrigan kripya dhyan den! …’ as I eagerly straightened my ears to the train announcement. It ended with ‘… hame khed hai’ and an unprecedented wait ensued. The April heat plus humidity, and having not eaten a bite since morning, made me miss the morning breakfast. Only if I had got up early!
I searched the back pocket of my jeans. There was a 2-rupee coin.
It was the year 2011 and even then there was hardly anything to buy for 2 Rupees that can be my, as I looked at the station clock, my Lunch!
I went outside the station, passing over the autos and the rickshaws, to look for the worthy vendor who deserved my 2 rupees in return for lunch. I scanned around the lane to zero down on one stall that appeared to have a lot of Bhajjis, samosas and fried stuff.
Asking ‘….eita kitte?’ is easier when you have money. I realized it that day.
Just then, a man walked by to give a 10 rupee note to Bhaina and got 5 Aaloo chops in return. All 5 packed in the newspaper cut-out placed diligently skewered over the counter.
‘Bhaina.. gotte Aloo chop ta dio’ was what I remember saying in my broken Odia.
I took the aaloo chop and walked towards the station. The taste of that Aloo chop, as I took a bite, is something that’s as fresh as yesterday. I used the same oil-soaked newspaper to wrap and throw-aim at the nearby dustbin to feel elated, I missed it by a whisker (because, of course!). I was still happy, nevertheless.
Years later, the reason I still remember this, is that I wasn’t sad about this. There was no ‘moment of determination’ that I’m going to change this. There was no drama attached to that moment and this might just be running parallel NOW in someone else’s life!
To go back and check the singular emotion going through my head: It was Hope!
The hope that this temporary mundane would change for the better. The way it has always been.
What I now realize, Hope is a peculiarly strong emotion. It CAN change the perceived impossible. It has a vision and it lends wing to that vision.
We’ve all faced moments when we’re hard-pressed amidst a no-way street. The dark hours are upon us and there seems to be nothing that can bring us out of there.
And yet, it does. With the hope that there’ll be a new dawn. It’s axiomatic that things will always change for the better.
We all strive to achieve and we won’t get ALL we want. But we’ll get something. Something that’ll make us happy to look at the past and smile about it.
The story I shared is everyone’s story. What we never had before, we have that now! Our list is long, and it keeps getting longer, and it might take the time to get it all. But we should always sit back and see, how many of those we already have.
I keep getting back to this 2-rupee story every now and then. What’s your story that puts a smile on your face when you remember it now?
The uber small talk

The Uber Small Talk

The adrenaline pumping action sequences and the grandeur of Bahuballi was laid to rest in the silence of the diverging road outside the theatre.

A seat witnessing the glory of the make-believe movie world fiefdom and the contrast of the life outside is a reality check.

In the midst of those goodbyes and people requesting the ever-so-demanding autowaalas to drop them home, the ‘Sorry, we couldn’t find you a ride’ notification from Uber wasn’t a surprise.

As I skittled in vain to book a cab, a sense of ‘chal theek hai, thodi hawa khaate hain’ seeped in. And I sat there doing absolutely nothing.

I’m pretty used to being on my own. It is very mood dependent but still a major part of how I like life to be. Less intrusive, unless I allow others in. On my own time. I’m not anti-social nor do I dislike people or their company. But to stay sane, I find being selective is important.Growing older the fear of being stuck with bad apples is far more than the occasional pleasures of solitude.

I like conversations. The ones where you’re not reacting or in a rush. The elaborate ones. Listen. Speak. Listen.

The driver arrived and was in a mood to talk. Probably just to stay awake for a few more hours and clock the mandatory hours/rides for the day. More Small talk. I’m okay with the awkward silences. Rather, over time, have got used to it. And so have my friends. (Hopefully!)

But the driver needed it. And so we talked. About Dinner, about Bahuballi’s impressive collection, his family, him being the sole bread earner and the standard driver-passenger talk about ‘How’s Uber doing?’.

As we said Goodnight to each other, my philosophical musings from earlier were overshadowed by the tough life of the driver. There I was pondering over me being alone after watching a movie, spending money equivalent to 4-5 rides he’ll have to make to match. First world problems!

Walking upstairs and crashing on my bed, when I wanted to, never seem such a luxury.

exasperating farrago of small moments

Exasperating farrago of small moments

As the aeroplane whizzed above, screeching its way through the clouds, I huffed an exasperating farrago of emotions. I mean, let me also join the elite herd.

A hammer banging against my head while I’m left with no choice to avoid.

A few seconds later, as the sound vanishes, sanity returns to the tiny lanes of Ejipura. And the dogs go back to enjoy their karaoke nights and the odd neighbour, who treats every night to be a Friday, doles out trans music. High on life.

The weekend’s almost there, mate.

Those few moments of irritation caused by the plane looming over is still difficult getting used to. Two years and counting.

After an entire day of working, all one craves is- Silence. Moments of silence. Before embarking on another day to spend in the enlightening company of spreadsheets and data.

But damn! that noise?!

I do realise my cribbing is akin to the first world rants. Still better than people who paid 75k to watch Justin Beiber lip sync. Right?

Too soon?

Of course, Aapke paise hain!

I do understand that a few moments of irritation isn’t something that deserves so much footage.

To clarify, we’re still talking about the aeroplane.

But yes, these moments that create ripples in our mood, if you closely analyse, last for very brief moments. The guy who wouldn’t stop honking on the road even when the red light is still on to those who won’t understand when they should stop talking, our day is filled with similar events. Irritating as they are, the still pass over.

But we get stuck there.

We carry on with our day with the baggage of those very moments. We love adding extra kilos to our luggage anyway.

Compartmentalising our mood and reactions can help make our day so much better.

Many of these incidents make me feel that we want to be in a bad mood. Agitated. Angry. Willing to take it out on the next possible opportunity. Like there’s a jar that we’ve promised to fill by end of the day.

Should we not wake up with a clean slate every Morning? But do we?

I cannot remember anyone waking up happy. Not me, for sure.

And this is so very sad!

As another plane passes away and gives me the same feeling of disgust. I wonder. Getting used to, huh?

falling short

Falling Short

You know that feeling of running with all you have to reach the finish line? Only to realize that there’s no prize waiting for you at the end?
It sucks. Right?
And no, the effort alone doesn’t satiate. Our panting molds into teeth crunching anger at the rate of several expletives.
Until we decide to calm ourselves down.
Even when, at the start of the race, the prize wasn’t the goal and participation was, it still sucks. Humans. The faulty ones, we are. We are wired in a way that the emotional switch is quite trippy.
Definitely, the learning from one race can be recycled to be implemented in another. Making the other race, easier. But the proportional effort vs result has to match. There ain’t no joy replacing that.
End goals are vague. But milestones should come with signs visible from the starting mile.
More than others judging you, our forced incompetence viewed in our own rear-view mirror, judges us with disgust.
The next race doesn’t start soon. And until it will, the rear-view won’t let us forget the tail.
Our present doesn’t live in the present. They keep juggling between the scarred past and the uncertain future for their own amusement.
The answer to the question of “Why do we fall short? ” is the present which cannot hold its own ground. The ‘Present’ that just doesn’t cut us some slack!

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