Flight!

I went to this party the other day for a friend who was leaving her high school. It was as I had expected, the usual speeches, the usual tears and also the usual laughter. Nothing out of the ordinary, atleast not until I started thinking back to that day in August some 4-5 years ago, when I wore a leather jacket with anti-fit jeans and a tie with formal attire in the space of an hour, when I first publicly read out one of my poems and when another one complemented mine.
It was a tradition I am proud to say we started- that of having a farewell for the outgoing batch at the hostel day (as also of having the girls come to the Boys' Hostel Day). We were all there, in our ties, boys who had become men in that hostel, alongside each other, and we were all sad at the prospect of leaving. For all the times we hated the place and felt stuck there, that day we wanted to stay. To watch the sun set once more amongst a sea of colours, to fly another kite on sankrant, to dance in another monsoon on the terrace, to pass out drunk on the super-terrace again, to dance at one more birthday party, to cat call at the girls and to play another cricket match.
We wanted to stay for all that, but maybe we also were afraid of leaving. Of the world which we now had to face, of growing up, of the responsibilities, of being men and being accountable, of making decisions and of doing all that without the familiarity and the support of those remaining fellows wearing their ties that day. Of losing friends we had made (like we would never again be able to make) however hard we may try to hold on.
But move on we had to. The wings had to be spread, the eagle has to leave the nest first before he may soar. And I can tell you it was hard. We slipped and we fell, some succeeded and soared instantly while others hit the ground harder than they had expected and for many the struggle still continues and will for a while to come. But despite all that I know that all of them will fly one day and the strength in their wings will owe a lot to those days spent in that C-shaped building with no water and even less privacy, but with a whole lot of spirit and fun.
Given the chance to go back to that hostel today I will not choose to, but given a chance to relive my life again from the start I can assure you I would not give up those 4-5 years in the hostel for anything.

For Angels and Thank You

Its been a long time coming but as usual I've been procrastinating. It's about saying 'thank you' but I just don't seem to get around to it. About how people you've never known, perfect strangers, open their doors for you; welcome you into their lives and go out of their way to help you out. About how in a foreign land, with a familiar yet foreign tongue, these people- unknown to you until a moment ago- suddenly come to you as angels and share their food with you and their drink and their bed, while they themselves sleep on the floor. How they befriend you with ease and trust you and touch your life. And make you wonder how you ever will repay their kindness!
And that is the first mistake. For never do you have to repay kindness. All you have to do in return for the food and the drink and the shelter and the trust and the open doors is to open the doors of your own heart to them!

Of Kurtas and Jeans!!

Not so long ago there was a time when I grew my hair long, shaved twice a month (at the most thrice) and believed I could rule the world in a kurta and a pair of jeans! Today the only thing I find wrong in that statement is the tense!

"So what happened? "
(How predictable a question?)

"Life happened!"
(An even more predictable answer!)

As I study my clean-shaven countenance in the mirror, the predictability of my own statement stings, like a slap across my bearded, long-haired face! And yet the shameless lips curl up in an ironic smile! As if to mock the thoughts in my head. Thoughts I dare not whisper. Of how the boy in his kurta cared not for the future and yet his eyes twinkled with dreams while the man in his suit looks only to the future but dares not dream!

Drunken Ramblings

Frustration!!! Utter, complete and total frustration. Just when I was about to publish my latest post, my computer died on me. And I refuse to do the editing again! So I have nothing to say any more.
As I nurse another drink, except for my loathing for technology there is no one here to keep me company. I do not say I am alone. I can at a glance count atleast five heads, and I'm sure that after two red labels and the perfunctory nature of my glance I missed a couple of them. But yet company is a different drink altogether. One that I'd surely trade for the next round of Johnnie Walkers.
Which brings me to why one drinks- for the warmth? or the dissolution of inhibitions? or the high? or simply just to belong somewhere? Well whatever your answer I still think trading drinks on the next round would give me all that and more.

Capitals and Monuments

Today for the first time we did not have the Prime Minister (wish him a speedy recovery) for the Republic Day, also the first time that I wasn't in India on 26th Jan. So what did I do about it? Well, I went out and took a look around the capital of another country. I took a walk around what American's know as the National Mall.

Like any other capital city in the world it is built to impress. So off I went in the direction of that huge edifice erected in the memory of George Washington. Though I couldn't really fathom the monument (I guess it is supposed to reflect his stature) it is a monument you aren't likely to forget, if not for anything then for the pure oddity of it. I thought Greenough's Zeus-like statue is a more apt monument for a man who in my opinion is great, not as much for winning a war as for relinquishing the power that that victory offered him. The sword in his hand, not drawn but actually with the hilt turned away, is what in today's world needs emphasizing. It truly is sad that this monument was not up to the sensibilities of the people due to his "clothes!"

But that's how it works especially when its "for the people, by the people and of the people" as so famously said by the man who sits in white marble splendour looking out towards that phallus jutting out into the sky. The man, who so long ago set in motion the chain of events that led to another taking his oath as the "most powerful man on earth," seemed to frown a little, probably disappointed at the amount of time his vision has taken to be realised.

The Capitol impressed like it is meant to, with its distinctive dome standing out against the colours of dusk. Which brings me back to what my wife said, "Capital's are built to impress!" like Rajpath or the India Gate or the pillars of the Parliament making that beautiful circle and the parade that I missed this year. They are all there to impress. A showcase for the world.

And then you come across something that is all that and more. The peace and quiet exhiliration I felt, one sunny winter morning, watching the man with the charkha at Rajghat was one such.

The Beginning

Though the title of this blog sounds like the ending of a Hrishikesh Mukherjee film (I love his films), it is indeed the beginning of, what I hope are, some keystrokes that will let out some of the latent uneasiness in me. The writing bug isn't new to me and I've always tried to write, sometimes failing poorly but at times succeeding. But its been a while since I've written! And too much water has been added by the Ganga to the Bay in the meantime.

I really don't have much to say today but I fear if I were to have postponed this little beginning any further it may never have been. So let me say that i have a lot more to say...