Pick Your Day

There are days. Days when life comes to a standstill and the world keeps moving. Days when flashes of the past start painting the present and blotching the future. Days when you feel like stepping out barefooted in the scorching heat and stare up at the sun. Such are the days when expressions are faint and the silence entertains. On these days the raindrops don't tickle and the moon hides. These are days when dreams seems incomplete and ideas inconceivable.

Those days give way to these days. When the lights shine bright and the heart gloats. When the sweet sounds of the wind match cords with the tapping of the finger. Such are the days that make you believe that life lives for you. Days when stories are narrated with the slight movement of the eyes. These are the days when conversations melt away into tunes and play the melody of love. Days when you feel the need to paint each nail with a different color.

Then there are days that mute you. Days that live on the fence and each side looks as brown as the other or as green.. it doesn't matter. On these days the blues don't make you more glum and the yellow doesn't make your smile stretch any further. Days when it doesn't matter whether there is a tomorrow or you lived through a yesterday. These are the days that a cup of coffee is nothing but a recharge to last another few hours. Days when life is pacing itself with the tick of the clock.

Our lives are a complicated compromise of all of these days. Some days we give more than we take and some days we are given more than we can handle.

The only limit to our realization of
our dreams of tommorrow will be doubts of today.

Live each day like a dream that never ends. Envision each dream like a song that never fades. Sing each song with the beat of your heart.

A Visit With Oneself

We meet a lot of people walking the different paths of life, some stick around to the end, some tag along for the ride, and some just get packed away in the stacks of memories. We get some of our best laughs from them as well as the tartest of moments. For the first time today I felt strange. Strangely connected. The strangeness that comes about when your friend sits across from you and tells you who you are. There is a comforting discomfort in that. Partly because you feel like you're no more standing shoulder to shoulder but now with a mirror in between where you are as much behind as you are in front, hiding nothing. But then you also hear them describing you.. you want to listen.. the words that tell you what you are all about and oddly enough you realize that you can be described in words. Maybe this is why they say your friends are a reflection of you.. and if nothing else, leaving us with the security that even in the toughest of times, these mirrors won't crack! :)

What Dreams are made of

I'll give you a sprinkle of red and let you color the skies with it. Let it run down your dress and trace the lacing. Let it pierce through you and ignite all emotions and feelings. Let it imitate the crimson outline of your lips and seal the words all at once.

I'll give you a dash of cloudy skies and let them pour into your blue soul. Let it dance with your slate colored bangles creating chimes with the falling raindrops.

I'll give you a stash of yellows and let you play games with the sun. Give it a dabble of orange and spray the desert sands with envy. Let you paint the old cafe walls and give them a reason to shy away.

I'll give you a fleck of jade and let you run in it. Let it ribbon itself around you and take vows with the sounds of music. Let you dip your shawl in it and shine like the stone that rings your finger.

I'll give you drizzle of whites and let the rays play tricks with it amidst the sunny winter days. Let you run your nails on the pearls that run around your neck. Let you lose your troubles in mounds of whipped cream that sit on the mocha.

I'll give you all this and a lot more if you dream on.

The Indian Bride

She sat there, sipping the latest brew of the week, the Darjeeling Himalaya, watching the radiance of the full moon fall on crystals that had covered the entire city with the last snowfall. The night was a rich royal blue, cloudless, starless and just the single imperfection in the sky, lighting up the inky alleys with perfection. The snowflakes had aligned themselves along the window panes of the small tea house she came to every evening, and as she traced around them on the foggy insides, while the steam from the tea fogged her own pair of spectacles, the thoughts of what is to come in the next few weeks raced through her mind for the millionth time that day.

Her marital alliance had been fixed with a native from a the small town of Pushkar by her mother's brother who was business partner's with the boy's father and the family had been vouched the most respectable in the entire homeland. Her own family was one of elite standing in city of Chittaurgarh and her grandparents had legacies woven in their blood from generations of royals. She, on the other hand, had taken up the challenge of stepping out of the realms of her heritage and took up a seat two years ago in a University abroad to study Botany. Her whole life she had grown up in desert filled lands yet, plants, beautiful flowers and vegetation had held her interest all along, and that was who defined her - seeker of the the unknown. And maybe that's why she had said yes to this boy who she had never met nor heard but only had a picture of him from his eight standard class. Yet she had faith. Whether it was in the confidence of her mother's voice, the reassurance in her father's words, the giggle of her cousin sisters when describing his debonair features, the letters her uncle had sent her describing the proposal or maybe the sincerity of his smile in the one picture she had of his she did not now, but she had faith. She had always lived life on her on terms, continuing to break all rules and realms that are set for a rajput princess, but only today did she realize the plethora of melodies her heart encompassed. All her life she had made her heart beat to the tunes of her mind but today they conduct yet another tune. Today the beat makes her heart stop at the idea of a better half, today the beat makes her head bow at the thought of her new home, today the beat makes her realize the depth of all the happiness that lay in the horizon. It is an unknown tune, but it is hers. She is only now seeing the rainbow of colors that an Indian woman's veil is made of in order encompass the vast amounts of relationships and responsibilities in her life.

So she sips, and with every sip, pieces of her past travel through her one last time, touching her in many different ways and as she packs away memories from times gone by, she clears the air for more to come. The anxieties of a bride to be play inside her and tickle her as she plans moments ahead. Suddenly she feels a tap on her shoulder and looks up, the familiar face of Harold, the owner of the tea shop, looks down upon her and a small smile cracks through the creases of his aged face as a sign to let her know that it was time to close the shop. And so, she to puts a full stop to the bolting thoughts of her mind, packs her belongings and gets up. She is standing at the door looking into Harold's eyes, probably the only single pair of male eyes she will ever have the courage to look into, and feels a sense of completion. He had the same look in his eyes from the first time she told him of her alliance three months ago. And slowly she realizes that deep down inside somewhere, maybe Harold too had given her the faith to make this decision. And so she hugs him one last time, both of them a little teary eyed but confident that this is where their story ended. A story that is going to give sprout to many more tales and with the sweet thought, she walks out of the doors, hears the bells tinkle as the door closes behind her and takes in a big breath of the subzero chilled air. Her closest cousin sister had made her a recording and sent it with the letter from her uncle of all her favorite wedding songs as she was growing up and teased her that she would only play these at her wedding in a few days.. she smiles, presses play and walks off.

Circular Vision

Once upon a moonlit night we danced,
Bound by the turbulence of beating hearts,
Cast under the spell otherwise known as madness,
With a rush of blood to the head,
We embraced each other like lost souls,
Like there was nothing else worth left to see but each other,
Something like love.

Today is another moonlit night,
There are only tunes now,
Moods of enchantment,
The heart swings alone to its own echoes,
That was then and this is now.

Tomorrow too there will be moonlit nights,
Some with you, some without you,
But always will the beat skip and the sound crash,
Forever more there will be turmoil,
Of what could be and what had been.

Sitaron mein le chalo
Dil jhoom jaye aise.. Huzur aao

Minutes to Midnight

And so another year comes to end, another new beginning awaits the rising sun of a new year with a new opportunity being laid in our hands. Yet I can't help but ponder the strange ways of the human mind - we always need a fresh start to regain our confidence, we need a clean slate to retrace the black marks we erased. We never stop to realize that every moment is a new beginning, every step you take, you are moving ahead.. life never stops to slow down anyone, it takes everyone in its stride, it's up to us what we take away from it; its breezy moments or its blackened sunsets. Every morning you stand at the crossroads of life, picking and choosing, big and small, but a decision, a decision that will alter the sails of your life in one direction or another. Why is it then that we need a 'new year' to make a new resolution, why do we need to blow out a candle on a 'birthday' to make a wish, and why do we need an 'anniversary' to remind us to celebrate? Everyday should be a wish for happiness, everyday should be a resolution for betterment in life, everyday should be a celebrations of being alive and appreciation. So here's to a new beginning of every moment of every new day. See you all next year :)

Lost In Translation

Splashes of freshness drench his insides, sprinkling his eyelashes, as he gulps down from the water fountain cornering his cubicle. The high notes from last nights jam session still ring in his ears continuing the recital for the upcoming concert. As much as he attempts to concentrate on the production, his mind waivers yet again and he falls back in the pit of despair. Presentations, meetings, discussions.. nothing seem to take his mind of off what he's in search for. Even though his perfection seems likes he is only born to strum, the streak of magic seems to be amiss. The distractions of his mind and soul are standing as roadblocks every time he places his guitar around him, strangling the very fingers that need to enchant. The whirlwind of turmoil that he placed himself in has finally started its decent. He knew it then, that he had left a part of him with her but only now did he realize the depth of the hole he had dug for himself. They were a mere few moments of trance, they had met, they had loved, and he had left. And now he stands, alone, missing that hand in his coat pocket from the last time he had touched her, lost in translation. And with every moment that has passed since then, the attempt of translating his thoughts at that train station, reasoning his actions, understanding his motives, deciphering his decisions, never dies. Life is only fair to those that give it a chance. He gave it a chance but snatched it away leaving a scar of deceit on noone but himself. But too much time has passed and the damage is too large. He can't go back but can't see himself moving forward. And that is when he turns to his music, so it can carry him a little further with its power and if not heal, but at least bring the pieces together of a broken heart. But now, two days before the concert, how is he to perform with a bandaged heart? These were not the moments he had planned his life on, these were not the options he had dreamed of giving himself, but these are the paths that have now been laid for him. And so he stands, on the eve of the concert, at the crossroads of life, lost in translation and chooses to take the dip and picks it up and strums.. In the hope that the joy on his audience's face will transcend into him and lessen the weight of his sorrows. But he doesn't realize that the just the opposite is happening, his audience is crying, his audience is in as much in pain as him, and they come to him to relieve their burdens. He doesn't realize that the whole world is drowning in sorrows everyday just like him. He is not standing alone at the crossroads of life every morning picking and choosing. The say you pick and choose your battles, what happens when you are standing alone on the battlefield fighting with no one but yourself? He now knows the answer, you turn to others and you let go, let go of all the pain, you give up finding the answers, you give up finding translations; you make your own dictionary.