Homecoming (Work Ledger -2)

A little more than a year ago, in a defining kind gesture, an ex-colleague connected me to my present colleague. I was unaware of the impact a simple phone call could lead to. In the months past that opportune moment, I have had a profound realisation of the remarkably privileged life that I lead. The call led to an exposure to substantial experiences hitherto I was unaware of or never imagined true for me. I also, and most fortunately, came to work with set of four thoughtful, compassionate, generous individuals, and who, I along with them, were known as Vini - 6 School Team.

Over the years, I have observed quite a few teams, who just simply moved together, all the time. I envied those teams. And in the course of the last year, I became part of one. Occasionally, I pause to observe their contemplations, the lines of their faces, their smiles and wonder how our paths interlocked. In the treacherous/ transformational fellowship journey, these four became my home, nothing short of that.

After about years of running from one thing to another, from one city to another, from many relationships to several, I am home. A place where I am forgiven for mistakes big and small. A place where my stories are sought after. With them, I can turn into an annoying child and escape without being chided. They allow my words to stay with me, they are most comfortable with the comfort I am accustomed to. They know the words unsaid.

When around them, I am less anxious, I am a joker, chatter mouth, a little more responsible, shameless. This team's company and also its memory is a refuge, especially for a runaway that I identify myself to be.  They are witness to the darkest and filthiest versions of me, and they still are kind. With them, I share my fears, my tears flow easily. With them, I am nurtured and loved.

I also wonder if I will ever be able to repay the kindness in one lifetime or more. Meanwhile, for the last few months we are physically together, I will continue to rejoice, in my good fortune.

A Commonwealth of Love

A few months ago, amidst the magnificent hills around Pune, I sat with strangers, at a storytelling circle. Together, one by one, we gave away ourselves, our narratives. Some insights about what shapes who we are, reasons why many things still wreck us and how love, in many ways, was present in our lives, or instead, has been missing. 

Hearing others, I was overwhelmed, almost overcame with tears. It was a struggle to find words that would match up to, if not equal, the whys and wherefores of me. I did it, making people laugh and wonder, though not really content with my storytelling skills. 

I have come to know and spend time with people from that circle, embracing them beyond the shower soaked, emerald, tenderness encouraging peaks. Abundance in all positive means persist. Another wonderful miracle of that circle were the choice of words that I made. I have been looking for the right ones from quite some months, for this post. There were many viewpoints, much rattling of parables. The search ended among the hills where this book opened.   

I am the younger one in the family, always youngest among friends, have been even until up to the place where I work now. If one has known a similar experience, they might be familiar with the emotion of being overpowered, by warmth and care.

My canvas is made of tolerance, sacrifice and uncountable portraits of pain – none mine. Identify the vivid colours - Me losing control of my tongue, my voice and always being forgiven, always. Never being shouted at after multiple mistakes at different roles that I have played at work. Deliberately doing performances that most find uncomfortable and unacceptable. Also, keeping my paint brushes tucked away, while others only shared, ample with their own colours. 

I ran away from home more than four years ago at the first opportunity I got. I did not pay attention and it has become a habit. It increased and took many forms – running away from the mess food, away from the banalities of the similar sunsets, from only-self-regard and paths downhill, cities and even genuine affection. 

Only after experiencing myself how distance can be cruel, I understood the naturalness of the love and concern of my family. When I finally had the courage to part with my secrets, I found friends closer. I am trying to be as forgiving, as understanding, as others have been with me, being the kindness that always came my way. Alongside, what an absolute pleasure it is to smear and splatter colours on the canvasses of people who love you and one after the other, add loving tones to yours. 

Hanya Yanagihara wrote, “And he cries and cries, cries for everything he has been, for everything he might have been, for every old hurt, for every old happiness, cries for the shame and joy of finally getting to be a child, with all of a child’s whims and wants and insecurities, for the privilege of behaving badly and being forgiven, for the luxury of tendernesses, of fondnesses, of being served a meal and being made to eat it….of believing that to someone he is special despite all his mistakes and hatefulness.”

Bangalore Blues

Years ago, when I was about 10 or 11 years old, a mathematics teacher shared a lesson with the class. Keeping aside the usual diction, she asked us to make a count. A count of number of times we used the words thank you and sorry. She added the less we use these words, the more we score on the sheets of life.

However, over the past few months in Bangalore, I saw something very different to what was mentioned at school – the value of understanding and acknowledgment of what others do, knowingly or out of habit, to allow more comfort and joy seep through.

I spent the most hours in Bangalore either working and on the bed. Curiously, the number of hours spent at work were fulfilling, with each member from the small team invested equally, stretching themselves, making sacrifices and recognising each other’s contributions and out-of-the-way help, which was commonplace – putting people first at all times possible, even when business took precedence.

If one has seen Bombay’s rush and Delhi’s frenzy, Bangalore appears to be numbingly quiet and calm (not denying their own wonders). A city where the conductor and the driver of the bus shout at you just to ask you to be careful, as you attempt to jump off the moving vehicle. A city where a youngster in an Audi, allows you to cross first even while your eyes are on the phone and not the road. A city where it rains simply because the temperature shoots up a notch higher. One cannot help being grateful. 

The human emotions run equally parallel as in other cities, the human composition after all warrants only a little peace. But the pace of the city allows more room to them, something you usually experience when you sit by the sea or on the capital’s silent streets or otherwise while being tucked away with people who care about you.

Love and desire brushed past me with full force here, putting me out of my reverie. Once significant things lost significance, desires gave way to absolute essentials and meaning of others’ actions were made a note of.  

The city has sundry people in its fold. Some visited, people who I care about. Over many fired, warm, sparkling conversations, I also met some talented people from different turfs, with astounding stories and I found them indebted too. Weekends, the clichéd joyful days became the norm to indulge in company and the temperature of the city blew quite a few lids off.

I was told that Bangalore is a city that I would really like. I did. Several answers that I looked for after stepping out of Pune surfaced in surreptitious ways. Goodbyes soaked with a thanks or two, made it easier to step out. And as more months passed by, it was pleasing to recognise the basics of investing time, well, every time with a thank you.  

My first picture in Bangalore :)

Stories maketh a man

In the midst of some interesting encounters this year, I realised I have a predilection for stories. Stories in different shapes and sizes. Fiction and Non-Fiction. Books, films, blogs, some short snippets by Terribly Tiny Tales. A few social media updates that if put together can be an interesting tale. Distinctly astonishing reads from The Stranger’s Project, stories that are brought alive by groups like Kommune. And the ones that I hear during conversations, at work, over rides, food and trips. 

These stories have laid bare very human desires and many fears. I now know the reasons behind some choices – which had left me exasperated earlier. Pretexts of love for a particular food item, song, a film, a person. The ploy of a kiss, those tears and that hug. One blink and the monotony, the ordinariness of a gesture is sanitised to reveal the hidden sum of the hundreds of moments. What I take away from chats, films has changed. I gather more.

It starts from the start, the family. It took me years to realise our narratives are supposed to be linked like the fevicol ka jod. There is no point denying it. They are the ones who are most eager to hear our side, however trivial the accounts are. Watching the kids grow up and racing the scooter through the city where I grew up, the usual happened - life flashed past. A friend said some time ago, we are each other’s experiences, there’s no living without.

A few weeks ago in Bombay, conversations alluded unrequited love and a longing to demystify the future. Thoughts slipped into conversations and I glanced up to place the voice and the person together. An exchange that took more than 2 years in making, was left unfinished. Others were set in motion.  

The background of every story is love or grief borne out of it. I have also realised that behind the restrained, evasive remark, everyone has a story to tell. Fairytales, legends of kindness and companionship, an account of honesty, a piece of care.  

Work Ledger - 1

About 6 months into the job. A place of choice, the typical into-the-job pangs. Interesting/ amusing workplace discussions, intense WhatsApp chats. Vibrant Facebook posts, nostalgia & love soaked updates. Taxes, savings, unforeseen expenses now commonplace. Life does moves on, at a cruel speed.

There are very few surprises that a job brings, there was a conspiracy but we were prepared. Conversations with friends, echo disappointments, but there is only a diminished feeling of loss, for the batch of which one is part and will be forever proud of, parades a trajectory of success. Dreams take shape, a few regularly, many in a slow motion.

Exchanges are infrequent, and similar. So are our routines now. In these routines, so many truths are vindicated. The general impatience that life is, that ideas are valued and substantial, essentialism of companionship & conversation, bearings of choices made – briefly, the summation of one short life.

The day ends peacefully, if the walk back home is accompanied with a smile and a tune in the ears. One learns and grows, yet deep inside, one looks for the constants, the answers that are never enough.

Next are the next steps, unnumbered. Probably the ones which will make it possible to be closer to something that one is close to and a home that will be called rightly so. Undoubtedly, things will make sense, they simply just will. 

Travel Journal - 1

The word travel does not invoke a beautiful memory for me as it does for most people. I have travelled well, if not far and wide. And I have not had a life changing experience so far while on road, nor have I undertaken a trip that is so unforgettable that it can be told to the coming generations.

But I have travelled, with family, with friends, acquaintances and alone. In each setting, I have had my own little stories to share, which I will recount here, in no particular order. I have travelled to many corners of India, with family on religious trips. Not religious myself, I am glad my parents decided to take those trips for their parents – for their goodwill and karma, have played a part in my making and I consider myself blessed due to their actions. I also made a religious trip of my own, to Amarnath Cave, which was a pass to visit Kashmir, a place where my mother spent some years of her childhood, of which I will always be jealous. The same year, I visited Malaysia, an eye opener trip. I was there for an AIESEC Conference, and the learning was that how very similar the youth is across the globe, in thought, action, beliefs & dreams, even though color, birth and boundaries dictate otherwise.

In my post graduation, I managed to travel in each semester. The best excursion was one after getting a job, there was nothing holding me back, saved enough, no classes or assignments and the clichéd troublesome future lay weeks ahead. I travelled to multiple places, with different set of friends and alone too. After my first solo trip, I now know how to plan my future journeys, better than earlier.

My small little voyages also include the walks across the two cities I spent the wonderful years during my post graduation and internship. If Pune has abundant cafes & bookstores and emptier streets to fancy a walk on, Bombay ofcourse has the sea and effective transport system. I transversed on foot in both a cities frequently and was delighted in the discovery of smiling faces, delectable food items & places, and the sights that are essentially captured in a click. Though I could not like Pune, even after trying, I did fell in love with Bombay and had a brush with the emotion with which Mumbaikars call it their city, the unfathomable, weathered, enchanting island of dreams.

My travels in the current decade have had lasting impressions on me, they have become a part of my aspirations, opened access to more places and have made me appreciate things in a better vein. I have had people, friends telling me their own stories. I hope to create a few of my own, that I can tell kids. How very metaphorical these trips turn out be, and when one does look back, a smile appears, a longing to get out again and to allow the air, whirl your hair. 

(Originally written for & published at wanderingvivek.com)

A Hard Goodbye

As we grow up, a set of family surrounds us, our friends. While distance always crawls up in between, you know many of your friends, you cannot say bye to, they live close by, in the same city, festivals and family functions provides enough reason and opportunities to meet and catch up. 

And while growing up, you dream of a few things. You make a resolution to get as much as possible, with available resources and time. One of mine was to stay away from home, experience unbinding time & space and create unforgettable experiences.

And on the way, I met people and made friends with them, that are hard to say bye to, now. 

I did expect to make friends, and I did. Not a few, but many. It began with sharing. Sharing a room, sharing a classroom, sharing interests, sharing capacities, sharing dreams. Studying in a residential institute for the first time, I got to know people like never before, and they became close.

I saw what I expected and much, unexpected. An invincible talent pool, people with extraordinary capabilities. I was left, even more speechless, to see people experience goodness and return it doubly. I only understood friendship, or so do I think, here.

It has become a bit too hard to loose these friends. Loose to time, loose to distance, loose to who they are. And to realise why it is hard, is even more painful, it is because of the shared experiences with them. There won’t be more time at hand, to create these experiences, at least for me.

How they do not allow you to fall at any rate, any time – in the classroom, in a relationship, in an interview, in your conduct. How they want you to stay with them, because they know you and want you to be comfortable. How they recall and appreciate what others had to say to them or did for them, and they make these conversations and experiences, the basis for lifetime conduct. How they make you realise who you are, what are your fears, what are your strengths. How they sacrifice their sleep to pick or drop you, otherwise not bothering to get up for even a class or to write an exam. How people grew up, from the funny induction program to last day. How they hold you, when you believe there is no one to do it. How they walk with you, even when you left them when they needed you.

Thanks to the placement cell, and these friends, I leave with a job. A job to keep me occupied, a job to stop the incessant tears, a job to take the empty hollow feeling away. Until the convocation hours, where one could be a kid, once again, if only for a while.