À Paris

I’ve been living close to Paris for half a year now, and apart from writing about feeling like an outsider, I’ve hardly shared my experience here at all. It’s not like in the past 6 months the city had nothing good to offer. The problem is that my view of city was clouded by the emotional drama unfolding within me. In short, Paris didn’t change for the worse since the last time I visited it in 2015—my view of it did. I started associating Paris with the negativity I was feeling at the time and sometimes still do.

Almost exactly 6 months ago, I was springing with joy just thinking about moving to my favorite place in the world. And then I set foot here in Paris and wondered why I didn’t love it as much as I thought I would. Why did the City of Lights, adored by millions, not captivate my heart as it should have? I felt ridiculous and unsettled—how could I feel out of depth in a city as beautiful as Paris? I wanted to tell everyone how much I loved the city. Several times I opened my mouth but the words stayed on the tips of my tongue. If I wasn’t happy in Paris I surely couldn’t admit to love it.

And then today, Paris handed over my little rose rimmed glasses to me in a tray.

Today, I took the 300 steps to Sacré-Coeur, in addition to the ninety steps I took to come out of the Abbesses Station (my fault, I should’ve paid attention to the signs at the base of the staircase). But it doesn’t really matter, because the view from the top was totally worth the hike. With its pastel coloured boutiques, cute streets and cozy roadside restaurants, Montmartre is astoundingly beautiful. As I walked through a picturesque labyrinth of cobbled streets to arrive at the beautiful white église, I realised how happy Paris makes me.

Hanging from the railing and looking over Notre-Dame from Sacré-Coeur, I realised how incredible this city is and how wrong I was to associate it with the negative things going on in my life. The moment this truth was revealed to me was so satisfying and the view so magical that I could’ve stayed in that spot forever. I felt I could stay in Paris forever.

Walking past the charming bouquinistes and occasionally stopping to admire La Seine, I thought about the good things in life. After a long time, I felt an urgency in my step. I felt the urge to walk around the city till my body gave up. I felt the need to explore Paris as much as I could before I took the bus back to Jouy. I breathed in the city and almost wished to be lost in it. It’s like I met my true, buoyant self today after months of separation and I know that I will cherish this homecoming for years to come.

Paris, I hope you know how much these little moments with you matter to me. Thank you for being so patient with me. I now understand why Thomas Jefferson said that a walk about Paris will provide lessons in history, beauty, and in the point of life.

Even if tomorrow I have nothing to call my own in this city, I’ll have this city itself, and that will be enough.

♥

---

 

That Kind of Love

Look for the man who calls you a clumsy eater and giggles every time you soil your clothes. The man who ridicules your non-existent fashion sense but calls you beautiful in the same breath. Find the man who’s not ashamed to call you cute names. Find him—he who buys you precious little trinkets even when you ask him not to—because he knows you’ll like it.

Find the man who will go out with you for a movie just because you want to, even though he knows he’ll hate it. Find him—the one who’ll make a long to-do list and then ditch the list because he’s just too full of chatter. The man you’ll love so much, that your eyes will light up into a million stars when you see him. Someone you’d dance with in the middle of a busy road if he asked you to.

He’s the man who calls you pretty even though you look like a groggy mammoth with oil oozing out of your face and hair. The one who doesn’t think FaceTime dates are silly and looks forward to them, even though the dates are mostly you ranting and complaining for hours on end. He’s without any regard for time zone differences—you, the princess—can call him anytime, even at 4 in the morning. Find him— the man who writes for you even though he’s not a writer, and sings for you even though he’s not a singer. Importantly, find the one who asks you to sing for him even though you’re not a singer. The one who makes you want to write about him.

♥

If you find the man who makes you presents one night before your birthday— not because he has to but because he wants to, keep him close. If he’s someone who buys you red and pink heart-shaped helium balloons and ties them to your wrist, keep him closer. And if you catch him staring at you in awe, even though you’ve been together for months now, hold him tight. I say find the man who ferociously condemns talking on phone, but at the risk of being called a hypocrite, facetimes you for hours because he misses you as much as you miss him. The man who sometimes video-calls you in the background and lets you go on with your daily chores because he wants to see you but doesn’t want to interrupt your work.

Find the man who’s crazy enough to pick you up from home and drop you back to just so he gets to spend a few more minutes with you. The man who enjoys red lights and traffic jams because, again, he gets some extra minutes with you. The man who’s willing to drive halfway across the city just to go on a walk with you. The man who makes himself available to you 24/7 because you’re only visiting for 18 days.

Keep your eye open for the man who encourages you at every step in life, who makes you to look at the brighter side and fills you with positivity. Someone who tells you that you can reach the stars if you wish to, someone who motivates you to become the best version of yourself. Go find the man who believes in you so much that you’re forced to believe in yourself.

Please find the one man who makes you forget there are 7000 miles between you and him. The one who sends you letters from halfway across the world in this day and age of instant messaging. The man who cares enough to celebrate your homecoming with roses and garlands. The man who lets you have chocolate from his ice cream. Settle for nothing less.

And when you find him, remember to do the same for him. Because he deserves nothing less.

---

Found: Courage

In a beautiful city far, far away

A young woman is trying to find her way

She’s come a long way from home

carrying a map of the new city

she’s only begun to know

♥

She looks towards the swollen sky

At a blackness that’s darker than death

“Where are the stars they keep talking about?

Was it all a cruel joke?” Her heart bled

♥

Looking around she’s suddenly aware

Unknown faces looking at her with a strange air

Overwhelmed, she thinks again

“Why did I come here? Was it all in vain?”

♥

It’s so different out here

Much more difficult than she thought

Now she understands why in school

Darwin’s survival of the fittest was taught

♥

Lost, confused and perplexed

She stares ahead and thinks aloud

“What—what was I thinking?

What could I have possibly found?”

♥

Yet in her heart she knows

She’s found something to keep

that would help her tide o’er the lows

Something that in her heart would forever glow

♥

It’s the strength of knowing

That she can survive

That she’s a fighter, she’s got the light

Well now,

She’s glad to have come to this city

She wouldn’t have found it otherwise

♥

But the best thing that’s happened to her—

the best thing is that she’s realised

that the stars she keeps looking for everywhere?

Well, the stars are in her eyes

♥

Being Home

Image Source: Google Images 

Home is where…

…using my hairbrush as a mic I dance in front of the mirror and create my own spotlight.

Home is where I can be unabashedly me, it’s where I come back to myself every night, no matter how far away I wander during the day. If I want to put potato on cheese pizza and dance to classical songs, I can, because I’m home. If I want to paint my belly blue with ball pens and sing an unintelligible cacophony, I can, because I’m home.

I know I am home when I’m sitting in my own bedroom but can tell with certainty what’s happening in other rooms. Home is filled with harmless slugfests and lots and lots of complaining and shouting. It’s where mommy doubles up as a referee. It is where I can waste away time in my ridiculous pyjamas all day long. And it is here that I feel deserving even on my worst days.

Homes, no matter how big or small, are filled with memories. Beautiful, happy and sad memories that are powerful enough to trigger nostalgic tears and send you sprinting down the memory lane.

For me, home is all about the drawing room that too small for the crowd, and the dining table that is overflowing with boxes. It’s the dusty painting I made in 10th grade. It’s the balcony door that’s missing a latch and the chair that’s too, too big for the study table. It is the bedroom that’s almost never tidy but is still the best place in the world♥

Home is naturalness. A complete lack of reserve, an absolute awareness. In my own home, I will be able to find my way around even in complete darkness, because I know exactly how the furniture is placed. I know which tap leaks, which floorboard creaks, which switchboard is missing a switch and which cushion is the softest.

At home, I know at what time of the month the moon will shine right into the bedroom’s window. I know which mirror flatters me the most. I can tell who’s at the door, judging simply by the way they ring the bell. Home is made of mom’s famous Rajma Chawal, sister’s annoying laughter and papa’s calm love. Home is where the clutter is all mine. It is all about perfect imperfections.

Coming home placates me no matter how emotionally devastated I am.

Having a home means knowing predictability in an uncertain world.

Being Home means not having to do anything but knowing that everything will be taken care of.

Home is where I can be naked. Both emotionally and physically. It is total acceptance, flaws and all.

Home is waking up everyday in familiar, comfortable surroundings. It’s a sense of belonging. It is where the weightlessness and the feeling of inadequacy disappears.

Houses are made of bricks and cement. But homes? Homes are made of laughter, anecdotes, dreams, emotions and love. Home is where the heart is.

And perhaps someday, I’ll find my home in a person.

Tell me, what’s your home like?

---

©All Rights reserved

Life’s Lotto

“Parents are like God because you wanna know they’re out there, and you want them to think well of you, but you really only call when you need something.”

― Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters

Parents, like god, possess sin radars. At least mothers do. They call exactly when you’re in the middle of something you know they won’t approve of.

“Shhh, guys! It’s mom calling. Would you shut the fuck up, An? Turn the bloody music down, Holly. I told Mom I’m at an EdCamp. Shhh.”

Maybe the invisible umbilical cord is to be blamed, or maybe mothers really have eyes at the back of their heads. More realistically, your mother may have planted a GPS chip on you. Who knows?

Parents also have this twisted belief that anyone under the age of twenty-five cannot know what love is. They’re quick to correlate your housekeeping skills with emotional awareness.

“You’re just 20, what do you about commitment? You cannot even cook your own food.”

I don’t know why, but this dirty little trick often works. It appears that the two are positively related after all. #ParentsAlwaysKnow

Parents possess this amazing tendency to go from being the most wonderful people in the world to most embarrassing in the room. At this point I would like to recall the horrible face I make when my mother recounts how I had once fell into my own pee. What’s your parents’ favourite story of you?

Parents are people. They’re imperfect. They’re bad with computers. They often misunderstand us or give awful advice. Their thoughts belong to the fifteenth century and they have a weird sense of humour. Yes, it takes 3 business days to convince them to allow us to go to that party. And girls forget about that short dress, they would never allow that.

But there’s no denying the fact that they’re only looking out for our best interests. They’re blinded by unconditional love.

It’s truly a funny thing about mothers and fathers. Even when their own child is the most disgusting blister of the lot they think she’s simply wonderful. We are the shiny wax coated apple of their eyes. They simply refuse to see through our rottenness.

Parents hold us high, high above the stormy waters. They often love us more than we love ourselves. They believe in us more than we believe in ourselves.

We children are savage, cruel beings.

We don’t realise what our parents have endured and what odds they’ve prevailed against, just so that we may live the life of our dreams and flash our too-large-to-carry iPhones everywhere we go.

Parents, they go from being stars in the movie of their own lives to playing a supporting role in the movie of our lives. I can’t think of a bigger sacrifice.

If you’ve got parents like this, parents who love you and always have your back, you’ve won life’s lotto.

I know I have.

Mommy & Daddy, I Love you to the moon and back. You’re truly an inspiration.

---

©All Rights Reserved

Aria: A Short Story

We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next to find ourselves. We travel to open our hearts and eyes and learn more about the world than our newspapers will accommodate. We travel to bring what little we can, in our ignorance and knowledge, to those parts of the globe whose riches are differently dispersed. And we travel, in essence, to become young fools again- to slow time down and get taken in, and fall in love once more.

―Pico Iyer

---

The Vagabond

As Aria trotted off to the deserted beach, the evening breeze whistled in her ear as if breaking to her its darkest secrets. Sweaty and exhausted from the day’s activity, Aria settled on the cooling sand and felt a surge of emotions in her. She recalled her mother’s words.

“Aria”, she’d said in her motherly voice, “that tiny island is a beauty spot on the face of Earth.”

Since her arrival here three days ago, she had felt that her mother was absolutely right. Far away from the din of the city, here she felt calm and completely secure. She smiled contentedly as the cold water washed over her feet. Eyes closed, she felt for shells in the sand, caught a big one and kept it in her duffel.

“For you, mother.”

Mother. The thought of her mother always made her long for home.

Eyes still closed, Aria tried thinking about the ruins she’d visited earlier in the day.

The size and grandeur of the Dunan ruins had overwhelmed her. It was a hot day and she could tell that very few people were around. The high pitched voices of a few guides here and there and the click of her own sandals and stick on the old gravel floor were the only sounds she heard.

As Aria swept across what was once a grand palace, she absorbed history worth a thousand years. She felt the moist bricks thick with moss and imagined the colours that must have lit up the palace once upon a time.

In her mind’s eye, she saw the giant halls warmed by sunlight flooding through the archaic windows. She imagined the corridors draped in the most exquisite lace and bustling with gallant men and pretty women. She saw the chambers as luxurious, filled with the most exotic items brought in from distant lands.

“What was life like a thousand years ago?” She asked out aloud.

“Tough” came the instant reply.

“Must be one of the guides”, thought Aria. She felt him coming towards her.

“There was constant threat of war. The belligerent tribes of the surrounding areas frequently plundered the scattered towns. The peasants had no protection. Disease was rampant, children seldom survived infancy. There was never enough food.”

He seemed to hesitate a little, but went on anyway.

“Of course, there were calm years. But for a peasant, it meant little or no change. The nobles owned him and they owned the courts. Peasant rights were unheard of. For the poor, it was a rough time to be alive. It was far better for the royals. Hon, are you all by yourself? Do you need any help”

“Um yes. That sure sounds gloomy. Thank you, I’m fine”, she replied and hurried away from the direction of the Guide’s voice. She wasn’t looking for company. Not then.

Now lying on the beach, she felt restless, alone and dejected.

“Even a thousand years ago, life was just as hard, if not harder. Oh Aria, you hopeless romantic…”

Somewhere in the distance, she heard the seagulls squawking, their playful hankering broken only by the sound of waves crashing at the shore. She sat up and breathed in the cold, salty air that smelt of dead fish.

The smell of happiness.

The smell of freedom.

This smell made Aria want to get up and sprint along the shore.

Which is exactly what she did.

As she ran, the wind whipped her body, chilling her to the bone. In her half-hearted attempt to dodge the ocean, she fell right into it. Arms flaying and helpless against the might of the ocean, she felt the salt water stick to the roof of her mouth. With her clothes full of prickly sand and seawater, she clumsily climbed out of the ocean and spit out a mouthful of dry sand.

“That’s awful”, she frowned, half mad at the ocean for having soaked her to the bone.

“O dear Lord, please don’t let me catch a cold.”

Shivering in the cold breeze she realised that the sun has almost gone below the horizon. A satisfied smile swept over her face. She felt her whole body convulse with joy. Or maybe it was the cold wind?

“Never mind the minor casualties. Here’s to another great day”, she sang out loud. Sitting down again, she scrounged the duffel for her slate, stylus and card-stock paper, all the while looking towards the limitless sky. Her journey had just begun.

She moved her bony finger over the hard paper.

7/02/2017

What colour is the sky today?

Aria smiled her beautiful smile and began punching the stylus.

“Ah, it’s hard to say. Perhaps a blend of vermillion, blue, yellow and orange? There’s even a hint of fading turquoise, I believe. I like to think that the last of the sun’s blood red rays are shooting out from the crimson horizon. It’s a colour lover’s paradise. It is my paradise”

She threw her stuff into the duffel and shot a last glance in the direction of the drowning sun.

“Next stop, Paris. I can’t wait to feel Le Tour Eiffel.”

Chirping birds, howling wind, rumbling trees and a mind full of a million colours.

That is how this blind vagabond travelled the globe.

One sound, one touch, one memory at a time.

---

©All Rights Reserved

Minds & Hearts

“I think… if it is true that
there are as many minds as there
are heads, then there are as many
kinds of love as there are hearts.”

― Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

Lolita

I knew I had fallen in love with Lolita forever; but I also knew she would not be forever Lolita.

– Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov

About

Perhaps in a strange, fateful way, Humbert’s inherent singularity and diabolical obsession with Lolita began with his child-love Annabel.

Humbert Humbert, a European scholar and college professor in America, is haunted by the memory of a lost adolescent love. A surprising turn of events upsets and ultimately wrecks his life when he disgracefully falls in love with Dolores Haze (nicknamed Lolita), the twelve year old daughter of his landlady. Obsessed and totally consumed by her thoughts, he’s ready to employ any grotesque scheme to posses his Lolita forever.

 Upside

Nabokov weaves a delicate net of lyrical prose to enthral his readers; Lolita is deeply expressive and intensely poetic. The story is told in first person, by Humbert himself, when he was held captive in jail. Such is the power of Humbert’s soulful utterances, that more than once the reader will nod in a scandalised affirmation of  Humbert’s vile desires.

It is disturbing to note that Nabokov’s obsessed pedophile isn’t entirely revolting or disgusting, but is someone you want understand. Humbert cleverly fools himself and the reader into believing that he is a caring, passionate lover who wants to protect his Lolita.

His justifications, his reasons and his outrageous declaration that it was Lolita who seduced him are nauseating to the reader’s human mind. Humbert is a sinful planner. He systematically secludes his prey and fills her with self-doubt and fear and robs her of a normal childhood. Inspite of this, the reader is unable to truly hate the pedophile.

While the reader is tempted to sympathise with Humbert’s sad past, Lolita almost always comes across as crass, and unworthy of much compassion. As distasteful it seems, at one point I was almost tempted to believe that Humbert and Dolores were part of a tragic love affair that just couldn’t happen for a million reasons.

Clearly, Nabokov is a master of deception. He has the reader hooked, confused, shocked- gasping for more. Lolita is a brilliant, brilliant character study.

Downside

Nabokov’s Lolita asks disagreeable questions.

To justify his conduct, Humbert directs the reader’s attention to the fact that in many tribal cultures, it is acceptable for a grown man to marry a 12 year old girl. He pleads that before he ever laid his dirty man-hands on Dolores, the precocious nymphet had already had sex with another boy. He desperately wants the reader to believe that 12 year old girls are ready to mate and cites numerous examples where young girls are sold by families in exchange of land, cattle, gold and whatnot.

While this may make the reader uncomfortable, I wouldn’t go so far as to classify this as a drawback of reading Lolita. Being compelled to tackle these questions of morality in today’s modern society is a part of what makes this book a great read.

I would say…

Pick this one up! I’ll give Lolita a full five stars for its creative world play. I cannot recall any other book that simultaneously evoked such conflicting feelings of disgust and charm in me. I will gladly recommend Lolita to anybody who’s willing to challenge his or her sanity.

---

©All Rights Reserved

 

A Sine Wave

A full circle.

It’s said that if you hang around long enough, you see how life comes full circle.

Perhaps.

But I like to think of life as a sine wave.

You’re born naive; your mind’s impressionable: as white as a clean slate. Then life happens. You experience a sundry of emotions. You struggle. You succeed. Sometimes you’re triumphant. At other times you’re defeated. You walk through life collecting points or wasting chances. More often than not, you walk to the wrong door and end up staying there. Only the courageous ones tend to walk away.

You will fill your basket with experiences.

There are times when you’re so miserable that you cry. There are also times when you’re on top of the world and are ecstatic. Today you’re following your gut. Tomorrow you may listen to your mind.

If You stay here long enough, you’ll realise that there will always be people above you. Since you’re able to read this you’re already above a billion people who can’t read or write. But you’re by no means the ‘best reader’ or ‘writer’ that there is. You may be good, but not the best. There’s no best.

Tolstoy or Shakespeare, who do you pick?

If you’re lucky, you experience the entire spectrum of colours that life is. You know love, and you know heartbreak. You realise how vital it is to fail before you can succeed. Wise ones accept that all states of life (good or bad) are ephemeral. Life isn’t a lake. It’s a free flowing river that alternatively floods and recedes. You’re either going to have too much water or too little of it. Occasionally, you’ll have just enough to survive.

I like to think of my own journey as an uphill climb. The views are breathtaking, but it’s too easy to tumble down the treacherous road. I can’t see which way the road is going to turn next because there’s a perpetual dense fog around me. I don’t know where I’m going to end up; but with hindsight, I tread ahead.

I like the sinusoidal curve that life is. Peaks would make no sense to me if I never see the troughs. I won’t understand joy until I’ve felt pain. I won’t value success unless I’ve worked hard to achieve it. I need to feel in order to live; I won’t value life until I’ve felt it. But once I feel life I can never ‘unfeel’ it. I cannot wipe my slate clean again— there’s no duster. I will never be able to forget the experiences that made me, me.

It sounds so cliched that it’s almost unbelievable. But when it comes to life, it cannot be a circle. How can it be if the beginning and end do not coincide?

---

©All Rights Reserved

Sexism is Not Sexy

Of all the evils for which man has made himself responsible, none is so degrading, so shocking or so brutal as his abuse of the better half of humanity; the female sex.

― Mahatma Gandhi

The Nigerian President says that his wife belongs in the kitchen. Fat. Pig. Disgusting animal. Slob. These are just some of the names that Donald Trump has called women over the years. Aasaram Bapu says that a woman must beg for mercy and call her rapist ‘brother’ so that he spares her life. An Indian Politician says that just because India achieved freedom at midnight does not mean that women can venture out after dark.

Stuart Wheeler says that business is very, very competitive and women must compete only in places where there are no men. Because hey, women don’t stand a chance against men.

…And this gentleman here is asking me to put on makeup. Because hey, who needs a woman’s opinion? All women can do is put makeup.

Ladies, how do you deal with sexism?

---