The withering

On a rainy day, faraway

a withering flower 

whispered a poem.

The winds of the mind 

carried it afar

via words

burdened with their own weight.

For where medicines

and meditations may fail

Words work.

For they carry...

love,

the warmest of words,

the lightest of feelings.

The winds stop, 

the clouds pour,

the body pauses, 

the soul cleanses, 

the mind cries.

The poet always 

loves, and 

tries.

The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

Yesternight, as I grappled with a throbbing headache, my partner "surpgifted" me with one of the most thoughtful and wonderful gifts/books ever. The book helped.

It's truly a poem on everything. :-)

I am only halfway through it but it's really unputdownable. One of the best books I've ever read...

Here's my humble contribution to the dictionary:

• Assisong - the act of assigning a song to a person, to yourself, to a slice of life, to a situation, or to a place either in the past or present.
• Citalgia - the emotions that pour out of you when you think of the city(ies) you've been to/lived in and the memories you made there knowing fully well that you may never go back there/live there again.
• Restalgia - the emotions, and dare I say, saliva too, that pour out of you when you think of your favorite restaurant(s) and your favorite food from there knowing fully well that you may never get to eat there again or that that restaurant(s) has closed down/may close down soon.
• Quitenjob - the feeling that overtakes you during your last few days at a workplace while you're serving your notice period, or as your contract period gets over and won't be renewed, or if they've served you a notice period.
• Asgoodasitgetsintend - the helpless feeling when the love of your life gives you a last hug (which you don't know is the last one at the time) and you feel like this is/was as good as it gets till it lasts/lasted and then it ends/ended one fine day like everything alive dies/died.
• Surpgift - the surprise gift that beats all other gifts because of its meaningfulness and intensity.

My Bangalore Days are over

Bangalore, a city that evokes different and distinct emotions for different folks.

 
For me, it only evokes memories... 

In 2002, when Ani shifted from apna Vasai to work at HP, it was still HP. Bangalore was still Bangalore. Wind Tunnel Road was still like a tunnel made of old trees on both sides with canopies closing in above. 

The whole city was still green. There were no frothing lakes. HSR Layout and Sahakar Nagar were simple-but-far-from-city-center residential layouts with mud roads. Yelahanka was like a satellite town. 

The airport was still inside the city with green fields surrounding it. ACs were not a necessity yet.

Ani has his own share of memories in Bangalore: him meeting a few loves of his life and finally marrying one of them...

I certainly have no nostalgic memories of Bangalore without him though. He meant Bangalore for me.

 
Now, I'll only miss its weather. Which is also soon leaving the place like he is.

Bangalore never meant food joints or pubs to me. It was the only place I felt I always had a second home. Home was where Ani lived.

He certainly was Bangalore's non-resident resident, if that makes sense. His interactions with the locals and the city culture were minimal and if-and-only-if-required kinds. But he did make a few lasting or memorable relationships here.

This was the city where we shared Friends, How I Met Your Mother, The Practice, Breaking Bad, most seasons of GoT, and beer together.

This was the city where we made long trips braving city traffic to collect pirated DVDs of A or B-grade thrillers, slashers, and a few good films together.

I have seen the city being abused. Seen it grow without any direction.
Now am directionless. In Bengaluru. 

For there's no place called home here anymore.

Bengaluru without Ani is just another dying city in India. For me, he made the city come alive with love, laughter, and hope.

Now, I hope that I can call Lisbon my second home soon. Hope he makes it BIGger there.

Return of the prodigal son

He's back. Confucius. 

It took 47 days filled with nerve-wracking moments of numbness. 

On our 4th first-met anniversary day, when I petted him in the alley he was hiding in and scooped him up in a bear hug of sort... my heart burst. With 1,000 and eight emotions. 

I've experienced and driven through a cloudburst before and now I know why it's called a cloudburst.

Watching Kukubera crying out tears of joy while calling out his name on video call as Andrew and I escorted him back home in our Snubby was the perfect start to an auspicious day. 

He's back home to his fellow companions, Skipper, Rose, and Honey. He's skinny now with no injuries of any sort and will soon be back in good health soon.

We're eternally grateful to Anand's 8-year-old son, who spotted him at 5:30 am when he used to go buy milk. We found him at the exact same spot where he said Confu will be... 

We fulfilled our promise of 10K cash reward but there's an eternal gratefulness that money can't buy.

We thank every single member of the Yours WhatsApp group and others who joined us in our search for Confu. 

As I had said, hope is the best of things.

Confucius, not just a dog

Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets, says something to the effect of "All this just for a dog!" He says this when he realizes Verdell, the dog, had ceased to be just a dog for him. 

Confucius came into our lives about two years ago. One fine morning, he was just there in our compound: scared, timid, and a stranger. We believe he just slid in through the hole in the wall in our backyard. 

Vasu named him after the Chinese philosopher as he had an eternally confused look on his kohl-eyed face. 

It took him a couple of weeks to get close to us. He's a diabolical dog: multiple personalities existed inside him. Timid but brave, responsive but not as much as most pet dogs, expressive but non-barking, except when in our presence. 

He's more of a wagging, whining, and intensively-looking-into-your-eyes kind of dog.

He loved Vasu the most. 

He'll communicate via his whines and silent eyes that follow you. When you call out to him, unless you have his favorite morning food or Marie biscuits in hand, he'll just wag his tail and not always run to you.

We lost him on 10 April in front of Luna Pet Clinic as he ran away in sheer fright. He took off as if he was possessed. 

Since then, we're still searching for a piece of our soul to be reunited with us, a chapter of our collective life to be reread, a dog that ceased to be just a dog for us long ago.

We hope this is not as good as it gets. Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.

What am I?

Inspired by Who are you?

a mischievous whistle over a tidy river. 

the last arrow in your quiver.
an image that you finally delete.

a thought, you thought you could cheat.
a nameplate that you throw away.

a favorite song you've forgotten. 

a favorite dress made of cotton.

a battle you wished you had won.

your many loves hidden in one.
a sleepless night spent over a silly fight.

a dog's loose fur.

a cat's loving purr.
a faded garden of books.

your corner among many nooks.
the last scent of your past loves.

an old pen that you still keep.
a pair of Hawai chappals cheap.
a call of the wild.

still a growing child...

a snowflake made of fractals.

born of stardust, 

on Earth's crust, 

out of lust,
someone's living trust.
a human universe made of halos.

A hill of beans

Neither the problem nor the solution exists outside our minds. Our small, narrow minds. 

Climate change. Overpopulation. Serial killers. Abusers. Tyrants. Dictators. Wars. Famine. Floods. 

Most of these 'problems' are all caused by us but impact other life forms on Earth as well. That's the only true tragedy. One species causes the destruction of so many other species purely because of 'our progress', and not because of 'our evolution' is the real tragedy.

Most of the 'solutions' to these problems, caused by us, impact only us; that is also a consequential tragedy.

Our existence is a mere blip in time. All our history, nostalgia, and good old days, all amount to nothing. 

Just a hill of beans. 

Just like individual cells live and die in 'our body', so do 'we' live and die in 'this body'. 

Our impermanence is real. The flux is true. 

Birth and death are mere words in languages we've invented that have no meaning beyond them. 

We're just 'vibrations' that seem real only to dissolve into that which we emerged from. 

A million times

When memories dried and dead 
Are awakened
At night, as nightmares
Only to be forgotten again,
A million times...

When life cuts your 
Heart out to dry
Under a scorching sun,
A million times...

Know that love 
Was served to you
On the bleeding edge 
Of a kitchen knife, 
And not on a silver platter,
A million times...

Till an oven bakes love for you
Into perfection
A million times...