I am an Extroverted Lifelong Learning Tree Hugger

I took the 43 Things Personality Quiz and found out I'm an
Extroverted Lifelong Learning Tree Hugger

Tuesday, October 09, 2007


Thoughts crowd my mind space,
Begging, pleading for release.
But the mind, with a mind of its own,
does what it please.

How does it matter how you do it?

When it comes to the matters of the heart, what really works? Following somebody’s advice or your instincts? Pressing the ‘right buttons’ or being honest and yourself?

I know my friends mean well when they tell me what to say and what to do. When they tell me to not be pro-active but reactive. To act cool and disinterested. I know they care. (They wouldn’t be my friends otherwise.) But I think sometimes it is important to do what you believe is right. It is important to follow your heart. More so in the matters of the heart. Just as you might have done a million times before. Just as your 'heart' tells you to do now. It’s only by doing its bidding have you got to where you are now. And it’s a darned good place, I must say.

If it’s a series of misfortunes and discomforts that must be braved to reach higher plane, so be it. If it is heartbreaks and soul-hurts that pave the way to genuine love, so be it. And if it means putting every bit of your emotions on the block, once again, to get it all, and more, back, so be it.

Trust, belief, love… all have to come from within, have to be a part of you, before you can expect them back. Give your love out to the world; open your heart; soar; fly; be free of worries, cares and fears. And only then can you experience, truly experience, the beauty and splendour of love.

Friday, October 05, 2007

Mist-i-cism in Mumbai

29 September dawned cold, foggy and sleepy. I watched myself get out of bed and ready for a 3 hour journey to Pune. Work had been a bummer the night before and I couldn't leave by my customary evening bus. Cursing and cribbing, I’d made my way home, resigning myself to a night of restless sleep. When there’s a 6 am bus to catch, I fear not waking up on time.

So anyway, there I was, trudging out, heavy-lidded early in the morning. I actually half-sleep-walked to the bus stand and tumbled into my seat. The weather outside was a bit chilly and the AC bus did little to warm me. The nip in the air was surprising, considering Mumbai’s severe lack of a winter. But it was pleasant. Reminded me of my school days in Delhi’s winter. (Just thinking about them now in the warmth of home chills my bones.) How my brother and I would brave the cruel winter morning and wait at the stop for our ‘3-ton’. All you could see through the thick swirling fog were these two pale-yellow blobs – calling them beams of light would be an insult to Edison.

But I’m digressing. Let me come back to Mumbai. I usually fall asleep even before we’re out of Chembur. For some strange reason, which would get explained later, I could not sleep. I’d had less than 3 hours of shut-eye the previous night and I was as awake as an advertising person the night before the ‘big-client’ pitch.

The mist-erious reason became clear when I reached Chembur. It was like a mini hill station. I couldn’t believe my eyes! The buildings were completely fogged from the 7th floor upwards. Navi Mumbai was even better. The view from the bridge was breathtakingly mind-blowing. All I could see, partly, was the road ahead of us and thick, flowy mist on either side. Fields of soft, puffy cotton.

8 years in Mumbai and I have never seen something like this.

I looked around and saw everyone asleep. This beautiful, quiet moment belonged to me and only me. It was my moment, my special moment. Almost like something I’d been waiting for, something I’d been brought to that early in the morning. I craned my neck for as long as I could, trying to print the image on my mind to carry it with me eternally.

It seemed to last forever. Almost forever. The bus turned the corner at Belapur and all was lost from sight. Taken by the rising sun. Taken to a place where beautiful moments stay, waiting for its chance on earth once again.

When it does, I hope I’ll be there, once again. To see, to feel, to believe.

Mist-i-cism in Mumbai. Rare.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

I hate love

At the outset, let me set one thing clear. I'm not complaining, however harsh this might sound. It's just something I came across while I was searching for some quotes. And I simply, completely fell in love with the words. Nobody, and I mean nobody, has ever been able to capture a heartbreak so eloquently. There is so much honesty and deep-seated anguish in those words: "It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain."

I loved the way the writer has described the ease in which we fall in love. At times, with that which is not attainable. We know it, and still we go ahead full-steam, knowing fully well that there is nothing but hurt and a deadend waiting for us ahead.

But let me not keep you any more. All of you out there who have loved and lost, who have seen the cruel side of love, who have vowed never to fall again, this goes out to you. This goes out to you, my dear friend, who rages within.

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defences, you build up a whole suit of armour, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.
Neil Gaiman: English born American Novelist, Journalist, Screenwriter, Children's Author, among many

There is always a first time

I just started a new job last week. It's a new place, new people, a completely new way of working. It's anything but an advertising agency... quiet, sober, serious. Never worked in a place like this. But then i thought, what the heck. There will always be a first time in everything. Incidentally, it's also the perfect timing for a change of philosophy when it comes to attacking my non-existent lovelife. A friend wrote these lines which I just decided to plagiarise.
There is always a first time
To take the first step
To learn the first word
To unlatch a cage
And free a lovebird

To scrape an elbow
To stumble and fall
To drool in deep slumber
To see a waterfall

To hide behind a tree
To watch a shooting star
To feed a hungry kitten
To lick clean a jelly jar

To discover the hidden ego
To nurse a broken heart
To try and climb with balance
First time on a horse cart

To fall in love
In hope of nothing to gain
There’s always a first time
And then another again

Thursday, July 05, 2007

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Bike in Action

I rode a Royal Enfield the other day. For the very first time! And was it an experience or what. Cool worli sea breeze in my face, the throb of the machine beneath and the fact that I was riding it. Yes, I’ve been a pillion rider before, but this experience is something else all together. By far the best experience I’ve ever had. Ok, discounting other activities.

This was simply mind-blowing. Bigger… better… sexier than anything. Suddenly all other bikes seem like such insignificant things. It’s one thing riding a CBZ or a Yamaha, or just any other bike. (sorry avid bike lovers, but if you’ve ridden an Enfield, you’ll know what I’m talking about).

I didn’t trust myself to kick-start it. Jittery and excited as I was, I was more terrified of the re-bound. Had a nasty one a long time ago, the scar still remains. So anyway, my friend did that for me, hopped up and I was ready to fly.

And suddenly I floundered! Damn, unlike all bikes I know, this one was exactly the opposite. The foot brake is the shifter and the shifter, the foot brake. I wobbled, fumbled with the shifter, eased the bike into the first gear and was just about to roll, when the bike stalled! Talk about embarrassment.

Tried it again, got a better grip this time and when I got going, wow!!! One round-trip to worli and back. Exhilarating! Wasn't that tough now, was it? Not at all. In fact, when we got back, I put the machine on its stand too, a feat I had thought to be impossible. I'm on top of the world. Thanks Viraj, you're the dude!

So, that's one more down. Another million things left to do.

I’m back in action. And my blog is all set to roll too.

Happy reading guys.