Flipping the pages…

16 May 2013.

In the midst of furious scribbling, the gust of wind from the open window blows the pages of the notebook resting on my lap. A list of accounts, maintained religiously (till the last pence!) catches me off-guard. A closer look reveals a weekly log; I would make a good chartered account, I can’t help thinking to myself. Intrigued, I find myself flipping the pages…

Backwards, until I reach page one.

And from there on, begins a journey. Which graduates with each page that gets turned.

The book is dog-eared; limp in my hand because of the number of English rains it has faced. A complimentary notebook gifted by the University upon our arrival here, 8 months ago. Awkward notes reveal the confusion of setting up a whole new life. The tiniest of tasks listed, the most random of addresses squeezed in between shopping lists. The horror of pound-to-rupee conversion is evident, as each purchase is made so carefully. There are notes of introductory seminars attended; evidence of a life once so brand-new.

As the world straightened itself and life settled into a typical groove, the notebook was used lesser. The dated entries support this fact. And yet, all ‘extra curricular’ events attended find base in the very same notebook. From learning how to ‘Getting Connected to the Wi-Fi’ uptil neatly made notes about ‘Getting an Academic Job’; it’s all in there….a journey of progress, page by page.

The shaky scribblings to confident shorthand notes, the handwriting changes to reveal the changes occurring within me. The smile that dawns on my face upon reading addresses of places that are familiar names to me now, drives home the fact that England is no longer a foreign land. It is ‘home’, a temporary home though that may be.

The writing stops.

But I am still flipping pages…

Lost in thought of what writing these blank pages would hold; what possibilities they would bring; what maturity they would preserve! 🙂

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Behind every door…

8 May 2013.

Behind every closed door, there is a story…

In the middle of the night, I creep up to go the toilet. The house is cloaked in darkness and resting in silence, so I am careful to tread carefully. As I cross two closed doors on my way, I hear movement from the floor above. And all of a sudden, this thought strikes me. I wonder what happens once the doors shut….

While we are lounging in the dining area, each one with his/her set of deadlines and boredom, there is a sense of familiarity seeping through the room. All day, we flit in and out…bringing with us our own set of smells and noises. But come night and everyone seeks out his/her own comfort zone. Personal space. The doors shut one by one, the locks click in place. And silence pervades throughout the house…

Tonight however, I stand and wonder. What is it behind each closed door? The telltale slit under the door gives a clue to whether the inhabitant is still awake.Perhaps it is just the desk light, and that is not enough to seep through from beneath the doorway. Is the person inside slogging away at his books? Maybe, exams are right around the corner. Is she sitting at her window, lost in thought and trying to pretend the heartache has gone away? Maybe, nobody can really comfort her. Is he chatting nineteen to dozen with his friend who just returned from a month’s stay in China? Perhaps, a lot can happen within a month. Is she fast asleep, tired with getting through the day? Probably, sitting around can get exhausting. Or maybe there is the inmate on the ground floor, sitting on her bed and writing about her thoughts via a blog post…!

I don’t know, and I never will. Maybe the masks come off and true emotions surface once the doors shut. Perhaps it is finally a place where you can smile and cry without anyone pestering you with questions. And probably the irony of the situation is that behind each closed door, each one is left truly alone…

All I know is, behind each closed door is a story…door_closing

Not a love story.

5 May 2013.

This is not a love story.

It is about two individuals at different phases of their lives; whose paths keep crossing and yet who keep walking away.

It is about two gazes that meet, two minds that are attuned to the same wavelength and two hearts that beat in time.

And yet this is not a love story.

It is about two clashing personalities that always agree to disagree; who abide by the motto ‘Live and let live’.

It is about pangs of loneliness felt when without each other and yet an innate stubbornness to keep this feeling within; of leaving each other in constant doubt.

And yet it is not a love story.

It traces the lives of two friends who have never seen eye to eye, their height difference responsible for it; who have never understood each other completely, their age difference the only answer.

But it is also about the will to try, the readiness to go the extra mile and the heartfelt happiness gifted to each other.

And yet it cannot be a love story.

It is about the obstacle called Society; the hurdle named Distance; the constant thorns in the form of individual life choices.

And through it all…the comfort found with each other, the tenderness exchanged even through text messages, the lingering smiles thereon…..the feeling of having finally come home.

I wonder why I still insist, this is not a love story…?

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Growing up together…

4 May 2013.

Late at night, by IST standards, my phone buzzes suddenly. Even before I have read the message, a smile forms upon my lips as I see the name of the sender. Her contact picture makes her infectious laughter echo in my ears although she is not even in the same country as mine. There is no introduction, no formalities…all of a sudden the fingers start to spill out everything that’s been in the mind and heart for so long. Almost everything under the sun is talked about in the next few minutes…I marvel at the ease of this friendship. It’s been ages since we’ve actually interacted this way. Always was it reserved for those random walking excuses we created; each time opting for the same companion.

As I sit there in the half-light that the street lamp is spreading in my room, my mind contemplating about what to cook for dinner…my reverie of thoughts is broken by another thought. This person I am talking to, seems so….changed. My heart swells with pride as I realise she is no longer the carrier of the burdens of the world. When I last saw her, she was the one who cried on my shoulder. Today she has squared her shoulders and faced the world head-on. That is when my pride gets tinged with a little disappointment. Would she stop needing me hence?

Suddenly the mention of another friend pops into our late-night rendezvous. As we both ‘back bitch’ about her (which I am sure she will never believe!!), I allow myself yet another smile. Yet another person I have always shared such an amazing comfort level with. Go ages without interacting with her, and still pick up the threads from where they were last left. In her, so many changes perceived over the last few months too. Me at the other end of the continuum, constantly evolving as well.

It’s funny how we’ve always played this balancing game so well. 3 different personalities, each one with such clashing tastes.

I wonder if that’s just a result of what we’ve been doing all our lives?

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‘Four’ever more…!

3 May 2013.

Today is just one of those days;

When the sun seems to shine brighter.

When the bracelet I am wearing catches the sunlight and sparkles.

When that sparkle is reflected in my own smile.

 

Today is just one of those days;

When the date on the calendar is nothing out of the ordinary.

But when it seems to be the only day worth living for.

When the reason is worth the wait.

 

Today is just one of those days;

When an old photo makes me walk down memory lane.

When those moments have never faded as the years did.

When that laughter in the frame echoes round the room.

 

Today is just one of those days;

When everything has changed and yet it feels the same.

When memories outnumber the years.

When there is no distinction left between dream and reality.

Today…

And ‘four’ever more…!

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