Thoughts crowd my mind space,
Begging, pleading for release.
But the mind, with a mind of its own,
does what it please.
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
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
