Those Days.

I still remember those days,

when my life was different and

I was a different person,

the biggest problem then was a boy

breaking my heart,

or me breaking his,

following days and weeks of regret.

I still remember those days,

when it was summer and

the Sun was either at its best

or worst,

both of which weren't a reason worth celebrating,

confined to the darkness of home where

even sun rays refused to reach,

I hoped to bid Summer a warmer goodbye soon.

I still remember those days,

when it's raining, and the raindrops on my windows

lure me into the world, outside,

as I step out into the balcony, the water forms a

little puddle around my feet,

the memory so fresh, it still feels like this morning,

I get drenched in the rain without an iota of worry,

I might suffer from sinusitis tomorrow but today,

I am wild and free,

and as these thoughts form a little castle in my mind,

I hear my mother's voice from the kitchen, downstairs,

"Your coffee is ready."

A Little Luxury.

When I was sixteen, I was given my first mobile phone. It did not have high-end features, but it had a radio. For reasons many, I was content with just that. I frequently stayed up late for studying or reading and found FM as my only companion. Sitting next to the window, I listened to the late night talk shows which were catching up in those days. Radio jockeys with an intense human connect, people going home from work or movies, and lovers going through heartbreaks - no matter what, everyone poured their souls out without any fear of seeming vulnerable.

Even before I had the freedom of exploring blogs and platforms where people had the power to share their experiences, I heard people talking about them on radio. I could hear them, sense their apprehensions, understand their joy and often hear what's unsaid and listen to their suppressed tears. I knew regular callers and I knew what exactly they would talk about. Maybe I saw a pattern in everything they shared. Or every failure they tended to ever so carefully.

As a child, I was told by my elders that a radio was the single most powerful device which connected you with the world outside. If my grandfather knew about India's independence, it was through a radio and if my mother heard a movie review, it too was through a radio. I mean, imagine the days when there was no TV, but only a certain voice emanating from a device. A certain voice without a face that everyone relied on.

Over the number of years, the way we procure information has exponentially changed. Now that I think about it, I don't plug in my earphones to hear the news on the FM as I did when I was a teenager. Because Google Assistant religiously updates me, every morning. Funnily enough, I don't even read them. On odd days, I turn on the radio on my way to work only to be bombarded with advertisements. And with so many of them.

What must have thrilled people around 60 years ago (or even 8 years ago), definitely doesn't anymore. A lot has changed in these years - my mobile phone with all the greatest of features that one can ask for does not even support something as basic as a radio. I remember being shocked at it when I was unboxing it.

"How can it not have a radio?"

I asked a couple of friends who never responded to my fury, appropriately. But as someone who literally spent several nights discovering new artists and albums on the radio or by receiving book suggestions from certain RJs, I wonder if our next generations will ever enjoy this simple luxury.

If they'll ever know that they can simply plug into the radio to feel a little less lonely during nights.

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!

RUNNING BACK TO MY MOM.

My obsession with clothes isn't fairly new. As a child, my fascination for shopping and clothes knew no end. Even when I was barely two. I vividly remember the moments when I'd come home with a glee largely visible on my face after shopping with my parents. Or the moments when I would ask for frocks with more frills. But my joy never ended with just that, because every day I would plead (often emotionally manipulate) my mother into showing me my new clothes till I'd wear them for a festival or an occasion.

I had tons of disagreements with my father about clothes. Just like today. I always liked something fancy. He always liked something delicate. As I grew older, my fascination for clothes increased along with my arguments with my parents about them. Soon, we arrived at a conclusion that we cannot do shopping together, and I took to shopping alone or with friends.

When I started earning, I imagined I could just buy everything I liked. Like I would walk into Vero Moda and walk out with at least five white bags or that I would simply step into Steve Madden and quickly swipe my card for a pair of glittery shoes that were carefully packed in one of their purple boxes. It would all be that simple, that's what I thought. Unfortunately, it was not. It was far, miles away from it. I would walk into a store and find everything so drab that I just walk out sad and dejected. I would walk into all my favourite stores in a mall and curse each of them for having things that don't excite me. And this isn't how I imagined things would be when I was a little girl. When I was a little girl, everything was beautiful. Everything seemed rosy. Everything looked like it belonged in my closet. You know what I mean? The little girl definitely did not sign up for this sort of disappointment.

Maybe you don't understand, but having a closet brimming with the choicest of clothes always meant something amazing to me. So, my fascination for clothes gradually turned into a serious compulsion to find anything half decent. Sometimes, finding half decent too became a daunting task.

My friend is engaged to be married soon, and I wanted to get a stunning outfit for her big day. Call it lack of choices or helplessness, I implored my mother to accompany me for shopping. This time, I did not use my half-baked brain or ideas, but only followed her and walked out with a little more than what I asked for. With a glee on my face  that the little girl would have approved.

I reckon there are some things in life that our parents know better. Be it the clothes that look great on us, or the life advice they constantly dole out on us. While it's not mandatory for us to follow it all, we lose absolutely nothing to pay attention, right?

P.S. Now, I got to go and adore my new dress all over again.

A Reunion, Said My Stars!

“Reunion reveals friendship potential that haven't yet been emerged in the past.” 

― Toba Beta

I am not a firm believer of Astrology, or for that matter, Tarot cards and all that. But sometimes, when I am utterly bored, I read useless things which include astrology. OKAY, so major creepy stuff happened. Good stuff, but still creepy!

My astrology for the month predicted that my month would end on a low note with some surprises thrown in here and there. It also predicted that I would hear from a long lost person. I did, I did. It also predicted that I might, I just might reunite with some old friends. That happened too.

Call it a weird coincidence or give due credits to the stars, my astrology for the month hit bull's eye. This stuff actually works, duuuuuuude!

So, I met these friends after eight long months and much to my chagrin, things did not change at all. You know, I imagined we'd get awkward and all that, but we didn't. We picked where we left, we had conversations that were as stupid as they were once. We ate at the places we always have, we made merry the way we always have.

We laughed over all the loony things we did a year ago, and rubbed our differences aside. We also made plans and mused over how things have changed now. The last time we met, we were actually pretty jobless. Not literally! Look where we got now? We just got busier with the work we love now.

Astonishingly, it is pretty ludicrous when you can totally pick where you left with some friends. It is okay to fight. It is okay to get into cat fights. It is okay to have differences. And it is totally okay to go on for longer periods of time without making grand conversations. You get very few friends who can retain normalcy after being mute for an eternity.

All your indifferences will fit together.

P.S. If you have a friend who screwed up your sanity, pick up that phone and give a damned call. A friend who screws your sanity deserves to stay in your life. Do not give up on being that idiot's maid of honour five years (or just whenever) down the line. She counts on you, you fairy angel! 

(That fairy angel would be me.)