Hello, Mumbai!

A new job. A new desk. New people. I feel so unfamiliar. And out of place. The discomfort felt on being away from home has taken over me.

But I am happy about the new desk. The new opportunities. And more than that the new location. Fort.

This place used to be the heart of Mumbai during the eighteenth century. This business district is swamped with old colonial buildings. Some of them had a significant status in history while some are just manifestations of primitive living. Well, vital or not, all these structures look mesmeric as they depict the grand architecture of those times.
I love being surrounded by history. Just a walk in these lanes and I am transported to the olden era, when the Brits ruled us. I imagine how life would've been then... The people, the lifestyle, the business, the society, the food, the clothes and the language... A little less evolved, a little more peaceful.

The glorious streets and intersections here are used by millions of Mumbaikars every day. I thoroughly enjoy my walk from the CST to the new office. Though it barely lasts 10 minutes, but it makes me realize that it is not just I, who has been residing in this city since 24 years, but the city, too, has been living, breathing inside me.

Oftentimes, it takes something new to help you connect with something old that was maybe forgotten.

The end.

The grandpa computer sitting on a tape. The dusty black chair crammed in a torrid corner.
The weak Internet connection. The chaotic desk.The notepad. The missing pen.
The murmuring. The howling. The titters.
The tring tring. The ting tong.
The chuckles.
The gossip. The bitching.
The laughter.
The work. The brain storming sessions.
The giggles.
The arguments. The disagreements.
The lunches. The post-lunch walks. The cackles.
The yelling. The tears. The resentment. The abusing. The frustration. The forgiveness.
The smiles. The jokes. The chutyapa.
The dreams. The hopes. The aspirations.
The sharing of successes and failures, happiness and sadness.
The boredom. The music. The conversations. The insanity. The creativity.
The place. The people. The love.The empathy. The compassion.

I will miss them all.

It's not the end of a journey. It's the end of an era.

Insecurities. I don't like them. Therefore I turn my back as I see them racing towards me.
The only way one could get rid of them is by conceding them in front of the person concerned. Or maybe to a confidante.
If you don't blurt it out, it keeps swelling until it becomes a monstrous blob of negativity. 

Dependent Independence?

You live your life as per your whims and fancies.
Design your decisions by yourself.
You create your own happiness.
You compose melancholy for yourself.
You dance. You laugh.
You travel. You eat.
You drink. You smoke.
You rant. You cry.

And one fine day someone steps in your life.
Quietly. Without your knowledge. Yet with your permission.

Now there is an opinion you want to take while making your decisions.
You are no more the only person responsible for your happiness and sadness.
You are dependent now. Or maybe your independence is dependent.
Because you still dance, laugh, travel, eat, drink, smoke, rant, cry.
But with that someone.
You are not alone now.

Does complete liberty come with aloneness?
Can you continue being a freewheeling soul while being attached to another soul?
Should this connection be looked upon as enslavement even minutely?

Maybe... Maybe that someone will liberate you further.
Maybe they would just stand beside you, making sure that you don't fall as you balance on a water pipe below the terrace railing, gazing at the deep view of the world and trying to conquer your fear of heights.

So maybe you are not really depended on that someone, but on your own perception.

And then you never know, you might fall in love with that dependent independence despite its odds.

Wishes of the day

Today I wish to create something marvelous.

It could be a piece of writing. A doodle. Something edible. Something Audible.
It could be a picture. A painting. A word.
It could be something significant.Or trivial.
It could be the zeal to be efficient.
It could be a new hairstyle.
It could be anything. It could be nothing.

And I wish to go back.

To Himachal. To Manali. To Kasol.
To the rivers. The mountains. The trees. The blue sky. The snow. The stars. The winds.
My heart yearns to go back.
I feel sad.
I miss them all.

Today when I close my eyes, I see myself in the woods aside the Parvati River in Kasol.