Sunday, November 29

The day I tried to live

A bend in the road
I've said this before, but it bears repetition. A proclamation regarding motorbike trips invariably will be greeted by the furrowed brow & the questioning look. The correct answer (to avoid painful & pointless inquisitions, arguments, drama etc.) is to nod earnestly with an equally saintly grin. And then carry on with the trip.

On my most recent outing I discovered that while the destination is not terribly important, it would be nice if said destination did some brisk business in the beer-serving line. Harihareshwar-Srivardhan is nothing to write home about. The MTDC resort restaurant is passable at best.

But those seconds; unfolding into minutes & hours as you meander through the countryside. Seeing a lot, thinking of a whole lot more & remembering what you choose to. When you are outside of yourself and dimly aware of the brake, accelerator, gears & the road ahead while the rest of you is soaring through a different land altogether.

Where you do not know what you could experience around the very next curve...

You. The Bike. The Road.

Song for the moment: 24 - 25 - Kings of Convenience

Sunday, November 22

When the tigers broke free

A Sunday morning.

I am awake a lot earlier than is usual, even on a weekday. From my bed, swaddled as I am in my quilt, I turn on my side toward the window. Even without drawing open the curtain, I catch snatches of birdsong. And silence, if you can understand that. The steady, dull roar of traffic is absent but not for long.

Parting the corner just a bit, I am granted a framed view of the world. The sky is still silver with the plant in the window-sill darkly dominating everything else. I discover that I can see the exact same scene in b/w, if I close my eyelids a fraction and peer. I proceed to do so till the reverie is broken by the cuckoo clock cooing on the half hour. Compare that to the phone alarm that wakes me on most mornings. Sigh... and snuggle into the quilt even further for a fraction, then get out of bed.

Although against the idea, I start my trusty laptop to check on the football scores. Man U wins - hooray. Liverpool & Man C draw - chuckle, guffaw, etc.

I see a mail from one of the few who matter & write back... you know, one of those starting out being short & snappy but end up as four 6-line paragraphs about practically nothing. A proper mail after ages & I am strangely thrilled. Pan to a pensive me evaluating my current state of affairs, when a simple email is thrilling. Cat-lady type status in the making, me thinks.

My first cup of decent, hot morning coffee in heaven knows how long... & the smell of piping-hot dosas wafts by.

The saxophone resting in it's case, catches a glimpse of pale morning light & gleams elegantly.

It is winter.

I should move back here. To Pune.

Song for the moment: Take five - The Dave Brubeck Quartet

Tuesday, November 10

Animate - inanimate

When you have nothing to write about, it is slightly irritating but nothing a spoonful of patience & a weather eye cannot resolve eventually.

When you do not want to write at all, there is a problem.

I am in the throes of both & do not expect to be cured of either any time soon. This fact does not bother me either.

Imagine trying to run in a pool of tar. Or swimming in quicksand.

The feeling of existing so slowly that everything else seems to be on fast-forward.

Song for the moment: Boat Behind - Kings of Convenience