A Letter to my Past

Dear Baby me,

I’m writing to you from the future. I’m you only 21 years old. It’s now the year 2012 and contrary to what was predicted, the world didn’t end. Better news, you have a lot to look forward to in life. I wish I could hold your plump little hands and hug your tiny little frame and keep you far from all that the world has in store for you. I want to tell you how very proud I am of the person you have become, of your fierce passion towards life, of your unconditional loyalty towards your friends, of proving how you possess a spine of steel behind that exterior.

Know one thing. Life won’t always be this happy. You won’t always chase water bubbles and run wildly in the fields under the cover of the bright violet skies. People will break your heart at most points of your life, they’ll tell you how worthless you are and how you don’t deserve any goodness in the world. You’ll believe all this. You’ll change from an ever-smiling, endearingly naughty little girl to an obnoxiously rude and rebellious teenager to an ambitious, family-oriented, independent woman. You’ll have ten people standing behind you scarring you with their words, but you’ll have a few telling you how you’re special and in the larger scheme of things, they matter the most. Trust me.

I wish I could see the world through your big brown eyes, see just how beautiful it is, with all its lights and sounds. I wish I could still experience the same euphoric joy at the sight of street dogs and multi coloured crayons. Yes it’s a pretty murky world, but it’s also splendid, the beauty and enormity of which the older me has long forgotten to appreciate or even notice. But more than anything I wish I could experience being me again, when happiness came naturally.

In retrospect, despite the ups and downs, heartbreaks, sham friends, failures, accolades, driven ambitions, broken dreams, innumerable obstacles and highs, I think we’ll turn out just fine. 

To Wish Upon A Star...

Countless times has my body travelled the lanes of those dark halls

Wondering how a crowd like ours driven with purpose and vigour,

Could sing such empty tunes, murmur such hollow words.

Seven hundred words spoken in a breath, grey and relaxed.

Embracing callously, declaring love piercingly

Without a trace of regret, nor an outline of apology.

The colours of the promises so often made,

Fade like the dying waves of an ocean

Leaving a mark, nevertheless. A stain to remember.

Tarnished and destroyed affairs lay abound,

Hidden behind the uncertain screams of loyalty and care.

Playful and relaxed words easily misconstrued

Knotted feelings, incapable of being untangled

Where did this sinister, black hole come from?

How did it manage to engulf us all so effortlessly?

The rising timidity in our will

Or the shameful envy hidden behind a façade of bliss

And yet through the murk and turmoil

A tiny part hidden deep in the realms of the spirit

Will always be forced to miss and remember,

Through desperate longing or want for a better world

Through the few smiles so frantically shared

Or the sincere applause in a moment of rarity

The disturbed hues of a mangled rainbow

In a moment of ecstatic symphony…

The Coloured Shadows

The simplest language, the deepest verse
A kaleidoscope of  hues and colours
Of long empty years and forgotten mysteries
Speaking of love, a fragile, shining bubble,
Hollow nevertheless
Breaking into an abrupt rhythm 
Of innate dreams and fiery desires
Reciting the tiny beats of the sleeping rainbows
And the shrill cries of the distant dawns.
Narrating tales of colour, of time, of ink, of loathe, of hearts.
Stopping but for a second
To unwind the throbbing nerves
Only to start the lyrical ode again
With desperate black fervour
Speaking silently of places
Enveloped in uncanny violet skies.
The symphony of a tortured soul,
Coloured with timid yet profound expression

The Hollow, shining bubble

It was at the age of 17 when I churned out my grand plans of what I wanted from life. I’d become the world’s best travel journalist, marry a footballer, own a white picket fenced house facing the sea, have a few kids, own a couple of dogs…
and I believed I was working towards fulfilling all these desires until one fine sunny day everything turned around and I was left with choices I felt incredibly insecure and unsure about. My fears and doubts about what I wanted in and from life were all the more pronounced when I was constantly pitted against people who were so very confident and convinced about themselves.

I knew I wanted to write. I knew I wanted to dance. I knew I wanted to travel. How did the three fall in together? I reached a stage when all I wanted was for someone to look me straight in the eyes and tell me that all the confusion was worth it, that someday I’ll figure it out, that not knowing where I’m headed wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

And when I was going through this phase of self inflicted doubt and terror, I came to terms with a few facts. The pain you feel, the confusion, the doubt, the fear…that’s life. Its there for a reason, to remind us of how alive we can be, that whatever we dream of, we all just want to be happy and to smile real smiles.

And along this journey of self discovery, I stumbled upon some very important revelations. My writings might not be able to make it to the book shelves, I might have just a handful of readers, my characters probably won’t make it to the history textbooks…but I’ll keep writing. Writing in the hope, that someday people will see the world through my eyes, that they’ll travel through pictures and worlds which I so delicately create for them, that I'll manage to assemble visions on paper, that I'll be able to put my ever so demented, pensive and random musings in ink.
That I might not be the stereotypically perfect looking, long legged dancer but I’ll still dance…dance because that’s my escapism, dance because that’s when I can be one with myself and one with the universe, because that’s the simplest yet most profound language, dance with the faith that someday the passion that I feel for the craft will echo and shine on its accord.
This post probably speaks volumes about the confused state of mind I perpetually live in these days. But as I learn to embrace this chaos and confusion, I realise that the perplexity and bewilderment isn’t so bad after all, and as long as I manage to have fun and make great memories along the roads, the disorder and turmoil will be worth it! 

Uncanny Hues, Silent Whispers... A Trip To Matheran

It was at five in the morning when I grudgingly stumbled out of bed for a film shoot in Matheran. Sleep-deprived, puffy-eyed and braving the rainfall I made my way to the station. Needless to say, working with complete strangers in an unknown place in the middle of nowhere, wasn't something I was particularly excited about, and considering how I was supposed to work behind the scenes, it wasn't going to be a party!

I've often wondered how life throws these unexpected and extraordinary surprises at you when you least look for them. My adventure in this quaint little town was more or less the same. After the long and tedious train journey, we finally reached the town, and this is what my eyes got a chance to feed upon...

Lush greens, heavy fog, quiet rains, towering mountains enveloped in a thick blanket of mist and water, waterfalls running through the mountains, sinister forests surrounding us, the picturesque town bore the air and mystique of the countryside. Exotic and flourishing greens blended effortlessly with the calm and ethereal waters, so perfectly that one could not tell where one begins and the other ends. One had but to set his eyes upon this land to know that it had stories to tell and incidents to narrate from the bygone years and people long forgotten.

Surprising how many people we encounter in the course of our lives.   Some of them can manage to leave an indelible impression in our hearts. Whatever my inhibitions were about the big bad world of cinema were ruthlessly beaten and subdued by the people I met on this trip. Some of them brimming with zeal and confidence, some of them with a quiet fervour of ambition around them, people exemplifying humility and simplicity, some of them with an unbeatable aura of victory and stardom...all set out to conquer the world with their talents and dreams!

The good humoured banter, the walks through the long winding roads, the running around, the fun shared during meals, all made up for some very sweet memories. Somebody had very aptly said 'We do not remember days, we remember moments.' This trip came as a very welcome escapade from the pace I had been living in for quite some time, what remains are memories of colour, of light, of humour, of stars, of time, of echoes, of ink, and of hearts....

                                   
                        ~Memories are ways of  holding onto
                          the things you love, the things you are,
                          and the things you never want to lose~
                                     -The wonder years.

The long and winding road...

When I first set foot in Mumbai, I was taken aback by the sheer aura the place seemed to exude. At four in the morning, the towering Victorian architecture, hustle and bustle of the streets, and dimly lit silhouettes of the buildings left me with a feeling of sheer excitement and adventure!
A year later, the city still remains a mystery. The pace with which it moves can leave you drained out and inspired in equal amounts. The people might be perpetually busy in their lives but they perfectly embody the spirit of hard work and energy. Be it the rich Milieu or the slum dwellers, it manages to accomadate everything in a happy if not comfortable space!

The rains have an unbeatable mystique around them. Children playing around in pools of muddy water, love struck couples sitting under an umbrella sharing a bhutta by the sea, the thick, heady mist lying prominently over the ocean, the crystal clear and transient waters washing over the rocks, the trees roofing above the head, dripping soft dew all remain exclusive to Mumbai.
Winding up, the lyrics of the popular Bollywood song, so aptly and poignantly describing the essence of this city come to mind...

'Aye dil hai jeena hai mushkil yaha,
zara hatke, zara bachke,
ye hai Mumbai meri jaan!'

Nuances

Have you ever noticed that if you sit quietly near a brook, you can hear its music? The soft gushing sound, the rocks and water crashing against each other and the strong, swift current, it all seems like a sweet, reflective melody. There is always a sense of movement, of activity, of impermanence.

Have you also, ever noticed a dead tree? A tree without any leaves and no sign of life, standing alone and naked against the sky, all its branches outlined in a towering silhouette, and there, in its bleak nakedness there is a song, there is a sense of vitality, of vigour, for it waits for spring to cover its branches with beautiful, colorful leaves again.

Have you ever noticed a caterpillar just before its transformation into a butterfly? It’s extremely grotesque with all of it in a grossly distorted shape, but does it not eventually evolve in a butterfly?

Have you ever noticed the setting sun from the bank of a river? How it exudes the most incredible hues into the waters before dying down and leaving the world enveloped in a forbidding darkness.

Without seeming too profound and spiritual, I merely mean to point out how life as we know it and life as we live is so very similar to the ever flowing river, the caterpillar, the dead tree and the setting sun, it is eternally changing, constantly moving. There is no sign of stagnation or immobility. However, we ourselves, either in an attempt to resist pain or out of our own insecurities, our own uncertainties and reasons, form these intangible yet extremely strong walls around us. Walls of comfort, of virtues, of rebellion, of religion, of fear and many more and while we are busy creating and breaking down these walls…life moves on. It rears its ugly head more than we’d like and smiles that vague smile on us once in a while.

Like the setting sun and the dying caterpillar, we seek a reason to fly, to shine. Some manage to find that elusive standing while others struggle to find a foothold. Staggering, falling, picking ourselves up again, experiencing misery, anguish, mirth, laughter, trials, making memories, making mistakes, making the same mistakes, learning from these mistakes, growing up, acting like a child, numbness, excitement, fervour, partings, meetings, stillness, desolation, strength…through this kaleidoscope of emotions and incidents we stumble upon life, discovering our true selves and slowly dropping the façade we’re compelled to put on. And while the transition happens, people see the shine, the true light in each and every one of us, similar to the changing caterpillar which evolves into a butterfly. And even though, the butterfly may seem delicate, fragile to the eye, don’t you forget the fact that it has what it takes to fly!