In case, if anyone out there is wondering, if I kicked the bucket. Nope. The bucket is pretty much kicking me

It seems like the last time, I wrote anything was aeons ago, I don't have a faintest memory of ever being committed to a paper and pen in the measurable last seven years of my life. Simple. Life happened. I was not jobless anymore.

I quit Hyderabad. I moved  half-way-across-the-country to Shillong, Trust me, if there is anyone reading out this. I shall dedicate more space here for my lives in Hyderabad and Shillong. Moving into Shillong costed me few precious things in life, Yet life moves on and yours faithfully moved on. On.

It all began, when I applied for a post in NEHU and that was in 2012. As the stars favoured me  "and, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it". I fell into the conspiracy.

It was not a happily-ever after story. Life's blues began. The prospect of being a twenty-six year old with a job and the stillness and stubbornness of Shillong scared the living day-lights out of me. It turned out that this wasn't that bad after all. A new Place, a new Home, a home that I designed and something where I put in  all efforts to build.

And all through this, something that stuck in my head was the odd belief that this was all temporary. Something that I had to put up with, till some better greener pastures comes my way.

Yet the truth was, it was hard to resist and at times, easier to accept and fall into the charm of this small sleepy little English town. It was not a perfect place, but no beauty lies in perfection as I knew and learnt.

Slowly I learnt to accommodate and acknowledge my very presence here. But grudgingly.

Honestly, I wasn't ready to regard the good side, that Shillong and this new life came with. Yet Shillong was nicer to me, I learnt here to not to heed to pretentious people and the artificiality that they naturally come with. I started painfully to carve and define me in the very solitude I was bestowed with.

It was a painful transformation.

I realised the real reason that I could not like this place was the remnants of Hyderabad that I carried with me,
I missed Hyderabad terribly,
I still miss. I have learnt not to fall into the pit-traps of Nostalgia.

Now the very memory and thought of Hyderabad serves as an elixir to regain my sanity. The places and people, the freedom, the mobility, the teachers of HCU, friends made, friends lost, acquaintances, the trekking in the campus, bonfires, Nalagantla wine-shops, Mehdipatnam, Hyderabad RTC buses, MMTS, share-autos, auto-driver annas,  Gachebowli, mid-night strolls in the campus, buffalo-lake, peacock lake, F hostel, H Hostel, Ladies Hostel Complex, SN School, CCL, Friends in the city, coming home, Hostel food, not being bothered about food, not having to bother to remember to buy and stock up and to decide on the next day's menu, Biryani and the craving for it at midnight and the fact that it will be brought to you by the lovable roommate Sudarshan anna, Hogging of food with Adil and Winny boy, Lazy Sundays, Mess food, Old monk, Booze, bike-trips, Silences, Reading into the night, watching sitcoms all day, The night canteens, endless chais and conversations, the movies, DST auditorium, birthday circle, classmates, roommates, glass-mates, soulmates and knowing that you will never be all alone and friend-less. I miss the camaraderie and companionship that Hyderabad gave. Truth be told, NEHU did not give me any friendships nor it let me, earn any.

I miss a life, that will never be again. I knew When i moved out of home, that on some levels, that I will never be home again. Its just that these thoughts lie dormant at the rock bottom of my heart and when they re-surface, life just becomes a wishful and wistful longing, It is a phase, a phase that phases me out for a while.

A mild-longing for a warm-familiar something, like a baby that snuggles unto the warm-confines of mother's cloth, my hearts leaps into the nostalgic memories.

I for one, now know that this fifth year of me in Shillong will be a tumultuous year ahead with important decisions to make. I look forward for the uncertainty. Amidst all this, being a teacher with students gives me a fresh leash of breath in life.

Now I have a different level of comfort with the place, A distant and a detached familiarity, at times, the place suffocates me, yet it makes up by springing its hidden beauty. The sight of a mist clad afternoon view from my window is one, worth living here.

Four-years and going, Hoping to see more here :)


Random Musings from not so recent past - I


         He wished, it rained yesterday, when he was with him 
         He loved listening to his poetic voice rambling stories of bygone youth, to the music of                      rain drops
         He loved leaning onto his fragile chest and listening to the melody of his heartbeat
         He loved holding his hands and walking in the rain in gay abandon
         He loved to hear him recite Tagore Poems.

         He wished it rained yesterday, for he could have had a last rainy day with his grandpa.



“Like a museum devoted to an absence.”

It’s been almost forty hours since I last slept, the house is in a mess, things strewn around and cupboards all emptied of its contents, pieces of papers lying around. I have checked into the pages of every book, note book and dairies I have ever owned or written in. I frantically flip through the pages, searching for a word, a phrase, a doodle or a code word into which I had once etched and emptied a memory into. A memory of a life-time; love, friendship, devotion, obsession, crush, puppy-love, fondness and affection that crept into me slowly yet slyly, when I was a teen.

A soothing calmness embraces my soul as I think of him.

I remember that winter when I first met him; a boring evening at a cousin’s home, where we gathered for a Christmas carol practice. To be honest, I don’t have a memory-picture of him.  I was hardly thirteen and he was twenty five/twenty six, yet what I remember distinctly was how he and S were holding hands all the time when they were seated among us. All we did was chuckle and giggle whenever they looked at us, smiling. Probably I believe that was my first ever idea or imagination of what it would be, to be in love. I was naive then and much more naiver now.

And it happened that there was always a whooshing of silences and whispers each time, as one of them would walk into the room. It was a common knowledge among us children, that they were in love and were betrothed to each other; a word that I fancied a lot, all through my adolescence. He was at once; this brother, a friend, a partner in crime, a joker, a merry-maker, a charming young man for all the mothers there and to my horror, my first ever adolescent crush. 

I knew deep inside me that I will not and cannot love him as how S loved him.  Yet my fondness grew aplenty, platonically. He made me grow into the person that I always wanted to. He taught me; how to dribble a ball, climb, swim, trek, to whistle with fingers, tie a sailor’s knot in ropes and Windsor’s knot and seventeen other ways to tie a necktie, something that my children adore in me now.

Three decades of life passed by; turning me forty five, yet I am that wistful teen still, when his memory crawls into me unaware, as I read this phrase, “Like a museum devoted to an absence." from the book, After the Crash. My life came crashing down to a stand-still, lost in an abyss of over-whelming desire to know what happened to him after he disappeared from our lives. we all knew what happened to S after two years. A story that cannot be simply summed up in a few sentences and yet it is something that we all learned to live through. 

I feel closer to the memory of my fifteen year old-summer as I close my eyes. I feel the years begin to fade in reverse, blurring my memories, yet reminding me of that ephemeral moment of innocence. That afternoon when a few dozen people walked back from the church after the service, I saw him walk aimlessly along the fence. Leila was tagging along him, with such sadness in her eyes that could only worsen his loss. I saw him, crumble down and lean onto the wall as Leila went and sat between his legs and started to lick his face. He hugged her and kissed her head and broke down, sobbing into her. I watched him from distance and knew for sure then; that I loved him more for what he has been to S in all those years.

Jeevs! I wish you are somewhere safe; tears in my eyes and hands folded in prayer, I send a wishful thought to heaven, that you found/made peace, for I never made mine knowing that you left us. I am a teacher and a parent now; I wishfully look at all my high school kids and wish you were one of them.

And, as I always remember being the youngest and only daughter, how it was to be treated a-bullied-yet-the-princess of the world by my brothers. I wish my two daughters would stop constantly picking on their brother and leave him to grow up like, the memory of mine-You.