Category: Random Philosophy Page 6 of 20

The age when you just start to realize that you’re becoming an adult, the thought worries you. Not about getting old but realizing, ‘So, this is how it feels’. I’m an adult now!

Before this point of realization, college still seems to be just a yesterday’ thing and a work-life appears to be fresh as the day. And then at this juncture, where we allow ourselves to become aware of it, life stands still. Not confused, just still. Trying to gather thoughts in a motionless equilibrium where everything moves, but you. You, with your head, sided against the wall, while observing your blinking glances in a slo-mo. Thinking.

Quantifying bits of achievements to justify this moment slowly dawn on you. Justification for everything is so critical, right?
Scaling the road ahead towards vaguely sketched dreams in that very instant. A progress report ab tak ka. Analysis. Lacking Actions. Playing the devil’s advocate, like always.

All of it is maybe for nothing. These thoughts, the plans, the supposed actions. All for nothing. Just the struggle to remain relevant in distinctive sets of spheres, all in the hope of forming an intersection spot when those spheres meet when we end our life. The perfect Venn Diagram for each of us.
Heaving a sigh of breath being held with patience, and twitching the unibrow (Yes!).

A voice echoed. I need to write about this. But no one will get it! At least, the crazies would!

And then again stood there glancing over the coffee-maker in the kitchen. I need that.

Choosing Writing over sleep? You’ll waste your weekend morning again! Weekend Tradition, after all.

On the first of September, I completed 2 years at my current job. And I was like woah! Time Flies fast. To be precise, 51+ months in two different companies. Ironically, I had to take a day off from work because of a cold. 

Maybe it was life’s way of telling me to press a reset button, at least try to, by taking rest. 

The job has been pretty good. The people, work and the off-work life hasn’t been bad. Few draggy whining sessions notwithstanding. That’s part of the package called work, right ?

There are very few movies which I watch over often. Today I happened to watch one of them. Devil wears Prada. I know. Not everyone likes it. But I do. It doesn’t have much meat in it. And yet it is so relevant. About work. And the life around it. One can never know at what point your work overtakes your life. 

I love the narration-less subtelty of the climax. It speaks. Or maybe I want it to speak. Don’t we do that with all slice-of-life movies?

When do we get out of the nest? How do we fly or just dive? Where does our true calling lie? Will that even lead us somewhere? What of we are just not meant to become what we aspire for? Do we even have what it takes? Are we even willing to put in the effort required?

Aah! The questions that a caffeinated mind throws up! Add to that, the tablets that I’ve had to take to get rid of this cold. Yes, this cold, which persists. A long lost friend who isn’t ready to bid adieu. 

I think it is pointless to come up with these thoughts unless I’m going to act on it. Maybe for once I won’t play it safe and take a big leap. These leaps look so good in my stories. The stories I want to tell (Aah, my plans!). 
But the what-ifs scare me back to the drawing board. To the theory of it. Nestled inside. Reluctant to dive. Impractical aspirations. Overtaken by laziness. 

How does one change it? 

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 ‘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 ?

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. 

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.

Hamesha.

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. 

Beherhaal!

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!