Small talk.

The blue sea in front of me was changing its colour to green. My nose a little too red for Summer was still failing to inhale the scent of the warm beach and sand. I stretch my legs and try inhaling a bit harder this time, only to hurt my nose. I look to my right to see him stare at the endless beach, nonchalantly. Where does he get this calm from?

"Do you like Jane Austen?"

He doesn't answer right away. But when he does, I've already forgotten that I've asked something.

"I don't know much about her."

"Have you ever tried reading her?"

Another bout of silence.

"Not really."

"Would you like to read her then?"

This time, he answers right away.

"She was way ahead of her time. Don't you think?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"Maybe."

And so, I went back to cursing my aching nose, and he, to staring at the sea.
Tune for the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9MQ5lInYuag

Home.

I was three when I nurtured the habit of looking out of the windows.

Misty mornings made way for warm sunshine and jaunty evenings waltzed into starry skies.

But the lofty green mountains remained strong and the bougainvillea trees stood still even in the shadows of darkness.

I was four when I felt the salty aroma of air engulfing me as I stared at the endless blue sea.

I collected shells and souvenirs and stood with my toes in the sand as the waves gently lapped me at the shore.

Even as the tides got stronger and the waves, higher by the night, the distant lights always lulled me into a strange quietness.

I was five when I cycled my way through the wide roads to a library my mother visited every evening.

The mischievous world of Bapu and Ramana, the mystical world of Viswanatha Satyanarayana, the mysterious world of Chalam enticed me into their realms.

Oblivious to the value of those writers, I cycled home with the joy of spending another evening annoying the librarian.

I was six when I discovered how the city was surrounded by mountains greener than the greens of my crayons and I was seven when I realized this was home.

I was eight when we moved to a different city, and to another, and kept moving.

It took me more than 8 years and yet another long stay to understand this city is more than just home.

It is first steps and first discoveries. First beach rides and aquarium sights.

It is first friendships and first fights. Of innumerable skating classes and injuries. First movies and first brush with literature.

The first rush of teenage and walking fearlessly into darkness without a speck of doubt.

Over the years, the city is growing older with grace.

Natural disasters have only made it stronger.

The lovers of the beach have slowly made way for the lovers in the beach.

The nooks and corners are flanked with the cosmopolitan glory.

The otherwise conventional people learned to coexist with the modern ones.

So much has changed but the air is still salty and the evenings placidly wander into starry nights.

On the roof of every home, a child like I once was dreams high of becoming big, someday.

To explore the world behind the green mountains and beyond the greenish blue waters.

To travel the cities without mountains around walk in the beaches with a different scent in the air.

Yet come back home, from distances far away.

Maybe it was only that distance that made the heart grew fonder.

After all, home truly is where the heart is, isn't it?

SUCH IS LIFE.

It has been over two years since I've visited my hometown, and I cannot even remember how long it has been since I spent my Summer there. These days, I talk a lot about it -- the beach, my grandparents' home, the orange sunsets, and the starry nights I've spent lounging on the roof. It's been too long, and I am in despair waiting to go back and stay there with no connection to my mobile phone, laptop, or just anything.

On my way back home from work, the traffic is generally quite horrendous. It makes me want to leave everything behind in this city and go back to the place that made my Summers breezy. Warm but not sultry. When I was a child, my cousins and I would gather around my grandmother in the courtyard every evening. Engulfed in the aroma of roses and magnolia, we'd spend countless hours there, forcing my grandmother to narrate horror stories from her childhood. A little later in the night, we would all move to the rooftop which has a clear view of a small lake adjacent to a temple. Occasionally a train would pass by at a distant with its siren sounding like a symphony to us. We did not have an email to get back to, or an important call to attend. We only had to compete with each other to reach out to the faraway lights and the stars in the sky. Everything was just that effortless.

Most of the times, we all tend to forget that in the pursuit of making our dreams come alive, we leave behind the simple joys of life. At least, I do. I forget that while my dreams and aspirations are beautiful, my approach to living them is rather nugatory. I'm leaving behind a lot each day, every waking hour, and maybe during all moments. I can only conjure this - Have I really traded beautiful evenings in the beach for something this flavourless?

This is no fun, man. Such is life, though!

Memories In Time

“I don't feel very much like Pooh today," said Pooh.

"There there," said Piglet. "I'll bring you tea and honey until you do.” 

― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

Perhaps only love can heal love.

Cannot figure out how? Let me explain.

When I was in twelfth, I had to shift to Vizag due to some unforeseen circumstances. A change in the college, a change in the city, and miles away from home - with too many changes and uncertainties, I was terribly homesick.

I missed my parents. I missed home. 

It was the first time I stayed away from my parents, and being with my grandparents was fun, but it did not help much. I had regular bouts of home, and Hyderabad.

People who know me well, also know how much I adore Vizag. I keep saying it - it is the place to be. But I grew out of it back then. Even before I realized it, I fell in love with the city again.

I have probably written a lot about my friends in places and spaces I cannot recollect any longer, however, I have never written about the four girls who made my stay in Vizag more than wonderful, and made me fall in love with it again. With one step at a time though.

Anjani, Anuja, Niharika, and Prasanthi - you girls have contributed a lot to my happiness and bitter sadness. 

As we step into the eighth year of our friendship, I felt a testimonial to all that we cherished together had to happen.

Probably I wouldn't have put on even a little (Read a lot) weight if Niha wasn't there to feed me cake every single day. I wouldn't have known the joy in sharing food if not for Anjani and Anuja, and perhaps, I would have never taken all the critical feedback in good humour had Anjani never thrown sarcastic remarks on my face.

Maybe my walks in the rain would not have been this memorable if Niha wasn't there. Maybe I would not have bunked practicals if not for Anjani, and maybe I would have never picked fights with any friend if not for Anuja.

Maybe I wouldn't have laughed so much even when I was going through the worse days if not for these girls; and maybe I wouldn't have savoured street food so much if not for Anjani. Shopping with these girls was awfully great, and sharing our deepest secrets in the darkest of the days let me talk about things I would have never imagined I'd talk.

I have also learned how to lie most conveniently. I mean, I always had a good story to tell our principal each time we bunked a practical or a weekend exam. You see how they helped me? I started writing stories to protect me and my friends from drastic situations. I will give it you straight - my lies were an epic fail. No one ever believed me.

Vizag is a beautiful place. In many million ways, it is so simple. I wouldn't know a perfect weekend had I not watched a movie at Jagadamba, and go for a stroll at the RK beach, and make my friend walk miles in pursuit of reaching Tenneti Park. 

I would trade my place with anything to be in Vizag doing a writing job, and staying closer to my grandparents and family. 

Any day. I mean it.

If not for these girls, I might have never realized the beauty of this city, and how closely it held me during the nights I missed home

It is a home away from home, and these girls are totally family away from family. 

Like an old warm quilt.

Vizaaaaaag!! :D

It almost seems like ages since I logged into Blogger, and everything looks so new and different. You know, like..like...okay, I am exaggerating. I logged in just fifteen days ago.

Anyway, I wanted to update my blog for some very useless reasons today. And I could not think of anything better than a picture post. And this picture post is totally related to one city- Vizag or Visakhapatnam or 'The City of Destiny', depends on how you would like to call it. There are other names too but let me not bug you with those intricate details. Or not so intricate.

Vizag is a metropolitan city located on the port of Bay of Bengal and it is beautiful. Very recently, it has been named as the 'Goa of the East Coast'. Simple people and simple life, that is how I would define Vizag. A very addictive place. You stay there for a week, and it grows on you. 

And now, the pictures. All these pictures have been clicked in Summer 2011. :-)

The beach! :-D

Ignore the clarity, I had rookie editing skills back then. :-P

Tenneti Park

This is one abandoned park near the beach. *Sniff* I loved this place.

The following picture is at Tenneti Park, again. A pretty awesome place, especially in the mornings.

I feel like a total idiot for not taking pictures at other places too. :-|
Vizag is a place that always leaves me nostalgic. I had few best days of my life in this city. The days I spent with my cousins, and few friends are just priceless.
I love this city but not more than Hyderabad and Calcutta. And oh, Bangalore too! ;-)