For no apparent reason

I have no idea how this is going to write itself out. I don't have the volition to control it. I feel loop-y, i.e. like I'm in a loop. No, it's not a real word. But then, neither is zoot.

Random. Now that is a real word.

Random. [ran-duh'm]
  adjective.
proceeding, made or occurring without aim, reason or pattern: This is a random post.

of or characterizing a process of selection in which each item of a set has an equal probability of being chosen: I follow random selection to pick a channel to watch the rubbish on TV.

unknown, unidentified or out of place: I'd like to be the random person who smiles at you in a crowd.

odd and unpredictable in an amusing way:  My mean cat is usually out to scratch or bite me, but today, as I type this out, he snuggles into my lap. My cat is so random.

The randomness of being.

I plonk him on the couch.

I'd like to be utterly, absolutely, randomly random.
Some say I am.

It makes life more bearable.
For you and for me.

And my mean cat is back on my lap. May be, for him, the couch is unbearable. It smells of its previous occupant. A very smelly dog, who is now on the mean cat's rug.

Life is very random.
Check.

:)

Note to Self.

Happiness.

• Watching rain drops slide down the huge bus windows forming a transparent veil. They veil me from the traffic clogged roads and make me smile despite everything
• The phone buzzing, unexpectedly, the night I can't fall asleep
• The smell of sugary, hot adraki chai coming to a boil as I await my ride back home. The chai cascading from one tumbler into another, the chaiwala never missing a beat
• An old movie ticket
• My cute,fat sausage roll of a dog greeting me good morning with a effusive wag as I roll out of bed
• Beatles early in the morning!
• Zipping down NH4, wind in  hair, song on  lips
• My book shelf!
• The oh-so-lovely aroma of strong filter coffee as my bus swerves past Madras Cafe at King's Circle
• The unpredictability of songs on radio, AIR!
• Match boxes
• Red on my toes
• A scrumptious meal with my family
•  Paycheck!
• A smile from a stranger
• Having a conversation about nothing as I watch the rain soak the city from my favorite table at Cafe Mondegar. And of course the Juke churns a retro every other minute.Bliss.
• Silver.Shoes.Earrings.Bangles.Rings.
• Doggy-poggy. Pudding and Pie.

Happiness. It's many things. 

What we could do too

Forgetting Something
Try this—close / your eyes. No, wait, when—if—we see each other / again the first thing we should do is close our eyes—no, / first we should tie our hands to something / solid—bedpost, doorknob—otherwise they (wild birds) / might startle us / awake. Are we forgetting something? What about that / warehouse, the one beside the airport, that room / of black boxes, a man in each box? I hear / if you bring this one into the light he will not stop / crying, if you show this one a photo of his son / his eyes go dead. Turn up / the heat, turn up the song. First thing we should do / if we see each other again is to make / a cage of our bodies—inside we can place / whatever still shines.
                              - Nick Flynn

A Mood Swing

You'd blame it on the weather.
The dust, the heat, the noise, the brown.

I'd blame it on you.

A sense of doom.
Nervous anxiety?
Lethargy?

I want a book.
A good book may wash it all away.
The grime, the boredom, the inanity of a day.

Something that makes me forget.

I want a book which would remind me of yellow summers, not brown ones.
Of black roads smeared with tiny, pretty, yellow flowers.
Of huge trees dressed up in fiery, orange Flames of the forest.
Of the sweet smell of mangoes mixed with a tinge of orange.
A dash of cologne and a whiff of nicotine.
Idle banter and insolent laughter.
Match boxes and photographs.
Bus stops and ferry rides.
Cheer. 

What's it going to be then, eh?

Food-iee

I warned you about my sweet tooth!

What songs do.

You had this on shuffle!

As we live our life of ease
Everyone of us has all we need.

If I could play you a song, it would be by -

 So Happy Together

In our yellow submarine.

Sky of blue and sea of green.

:-)

                            

Of this and that

 There are some things I think I will never be able to let go of. One of them is the memory of this shade of sun kissed green.

It stood by the road silently, watching the world go by. Its only friends, the corrugated tin walls and the parched earth.

And my fascination with trees continues. This one - "Droop dead gorgeous"

:-)

Changing the Situation, again

Dee tells me the rain is my muse. She must be right. I have barely written since the last errant cloud floated out of city limits. They've left the skies a deep shade of blue. It's the shade of blue which reminds me of cold mornings a few years ago, when I'd roll out of bed and walk into a class on Modernist poetry. It remained the same shade of blue when we broke for coffee an hour and a half later. It turned a tone darker when the class finally wrapped up after musing on the "throwness" of our existence. Later we mostly ambled back to our rooms to catch up on lost sleep. Other times we tried to smoke away the throwness of our lives, ashing it in a cheap plastic container. Non-recyclable.


It's strange that the blue should bring back these memories now. Or is it the unfamiliar nip in the city air, which lately greets me with a known familiarity? I don't know. Funny that I thought I'd stubbed it all out.


Anyway, I've realized, jumping up n down doesn't shake the earth off its axis nor does it help change the situation. What changes is the city temperature and the hue of the sky and with it, my situation.Sometimes, plain dreaming helps change the situation.

Try it!

Kelva

As much as I hate to love the madness and drudgery of Mumbai, I love to speed out of city limits and peer at it from far away. I like seeing the blue of the sky, uninterrupted by upward scrambling skyscrapers. I like watching cattle amble through fields and people bustle through the weekly market. I like seeing the car lap up black, tarry kilometers as I try to pocket and preserve the green, the blue and the brown.

The drive from Mumbai to Kelva Beach is rather long (120kms), but pleasant. Getting onto NH 8 from Thane is quick and smooth in the early morning. The roads are good, but trucks and lorries of all shapes and sizes lord the roads even at this hour. Hues of gray, brown and blue dominate a major leg of the journey. There is little buzz on either side of the Highway. The concrete stares back at you squarely until you turn right at Manor Naka.

The landscape magically changes. Concrete gives way to an expanse of fields and greenery and a faint smell of the sea.

The four lane highway and the rumbling traffic is left behind. A lazier and prettier stretch, lined with trees yawned ahead, in front of us.

We finally reach a sleepy village which is Kelwe (in Marathi). The locals seem to be used to see cars revving down their narrow roads. Vada pav and Chai shops dot the roads at corners. Some new ones seemed to have sprouted recently to sell the Diwali goodies. We see colorful roadside carts selling diyas, rangoli, lanterns and crackers. The village houses carry no garish traces of glitter and other luminous monstrosities as their urban counterparts.

Our car trundles down a very narrow, rough patch and we enter what is called 'Kelva Beach Resort.'

There is nothing  good about this resort. Except may be a little bit of aesthetic sense here and there.

The final destination, the beach, sadly too is a let down. There is something distant and unfriendly about the sea here....and the sand doesn't sparkle.

 

For what it's worth, it was worth all the while. The best thing about the Kelva is definitely the drive and the sights en-route.

Published!

I believe I'm modest. Quite so.

But I'm taking this one opportunity to be a little immodest.
For shameless self publicity.

(Yes, I can already see some of you out there gawk at my first statement! Hold your tongue!!)

Sharing a link to an article that I wrote, which got published as a cover story in an Indian magazine on School education in India.
http://www.teacherplus.org/cover-story/thinking-about-teach-for-india

Happiness mingled with a small sense of achievement.
Bliss.