The first time we met

I wish I could recall with precision, what you looked like the first time we met. The exact contours of your face, the colour of your eyes, the texture of your lips, the smell, the feel, the presence of you. I wish I could go back to that exact moment and kiss the living daylights out of you. Oh, if only my memory was a movie I could replay at will, pausing at every frame that includes you. Maybe pausing for so long that I forget to return to the present.

Red lipstick

Passions were running high that Friday night. A 19-year-old flirted flagrantly with a young cashier at the supermarket. Outside, meaningful stares and intentional encounters of chance abounded. I could literally smell it in the air - the heady scent of lust, longing and pheromones. I was almost afraid that the tall, rakishly handsome man who'd been trying to catch my eye, would smother me with uninvited kisses on the sidewalk. So, I hurried home as fast as I could - away from the web of vice that my hot red lipstick appeared to have spun. Why did I have to wear red that evening? Pink, brown, purple, black. Anything but unabashed, come-hither red.

My Happiest Memory

I have spent 32 years on this planet. Yet, whenever I close my eyes and think of a time when I was the happiest, the answer is always the same. When I was 8, I used to go the local swimming pool with my dad and elder sister. Dad would give me swimming lessons while my sister swam laps all by herself. She was already an expert. I was in no hurry, often content to just float on the water and gaze up at the sky. Being in the cool water in hot summers – it was so rejuvenating. And since we always visited in the evening, the sun would inevitably set when we drove back home.

My sister was usually nice enough to let me take the front seat. I’d roll the window down (I could be trusted not to do silly things like stick my arm out) and rest my head on the windowsill, feeling the breeze sift through my hair. I’d watch the lines on the road whiz by and the gorgeous colours in the evening sky. And I’d dream. I’d dream of one day writing a novel, becoming famous, and doing great things.

Every evening when we drove back from the swimming pool, I was convinced that I was destined for greatness. Life and its possibilities seemed limitless as I sat beside my dad and watched the world go by in all its twilit glory. The sensation of what a beautiful thing it was to be alive filled me till I felt breathless with joy. And I experienced all of this in silence and with a smile on my lips. When we went home, I’d tell my mum and no one else.

Culture: The root cause of social evils in India

While scrolling through my Facebook timeline today, I came across some outrage regarding a Bombay High Court ruling that pressing a minor’s breasts was not a sexual offence if there was no disrobing involved (article link: https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/mumbai/sexual-assault-under-pocso-needs-direct-skin-to-skin-contact-bombay-hc/articleshow/80435122.cms).

As disgust, fear, and disbelief knotted inside me, I felt for an instance transported back to my days as a an adolescent and then a young woman in Mumbai, India. The newspapers were inevitably riddled with stories of rape and molestation involving minors, babies, animals, the elderly…there seemed to be no lines left uncrossed by the perverted sections of society. What’s worse, I lived that reality every day of my life – groping incidents, men following, staring, name calling on the streets, the railway station, the bridges, the bars, outside the airport in the wee hours…they were the norm rather than the exception.

Over time, I found ways to minimize such incidents. The patriotism I used to feel as a child was slowly taken over by a deep sense of mistrust and fear. I felt no kinship with a large chunk of my countrymen. And I wasn’t the only woman who felt that way. In 2013, I travelled to London and Paris on my own. There was a moment or two when I did not feel a 100% safe. But other than that, I felt like I was in paradise. I could walk alone in the night and not feel like there was a threat in the air. I didn’t feel the need to jump at shadows, look over my shoulder or hold my handbag close to my chest. Most people barely noticed me and there was no place frequented only by men (which is the case with many shady corners in India after dark). 

I was depressed when I returned home. I knew now that the reality I lived was not the reality women had to face all over the world. Perhaps there were places where it was worse. That did not justify the state of affairs in my own country. I didn’t want to hear “it’s not as bad as the Arab countries.” I didn’t want to hear “no country is perfect”. And I most definitely did not want to hear that women had to be careful. Why? Weren’t we a civilized society where women no longer needed anyone’s “protection”? For the sake of my own sanity, I stopped reading the newspapers. I stopped getting into debates I couldn’t win. I stopped reacting to comments by sexist trolls on countless online forums. I simply began to plan my escape. 

There was a time when not a single day went by when I didn’t feel smothered by the indignities that women in India have to suffer. And what is their reward for somehow surviving all the abuse and the general denial (from both men and women) and the apathy of the courts? Their reward is a lifetime of servitude under the guise of marriage. 

We Indians love to crow about the fact that we take care of our elderly, unlike the “west”. Well, how many married couples do you know who live with the wife’s parents? I don’t know of a single one. It is a part of the esteemed “Indian culture” for women to move into their husband’s parents’ home after marriage. And then they must serve not only their husbands but also their in-laws and at times, even brothers in law. So if you want to avoid spending your old age alone, you better give birth to a son. Alas, nature does not work that way. And it can happen that you keep producing daughter after daughter. And daughters must be married off, the expenses of which you must bear. And daughters cannot take care of you when you are old and unwell. Little wonder then that India has one of the highest female foeticide incidents in the world. 

Anyone who doesn’t realize how closely culture and social evils are linked needs to have a reality check. My rant could go on and on but I know there will be those who will find ways to justify and twist every single point I make. One thing is for sure – change is slow and hard. And I don’t see it happening as long as we keep conforming to a societal model where a woman’s parents are somehow less important, where being older somehow entitles you to blind respect and obedience (case in point: after marriage, many women cannot even lift a finger without the approval of their mothers in law), where the suppression of women is openly portrayed in mass media and turned into entertainment, and where a Baghban will touch countless emotional chords but one post like this will fire up all the so-called “proud Indians” to speak up against this anti-national, west-worshipping spawn of the English devil. 

Of course, I no longer feel these emotions on a daily basis. But now and then, I still fear for the little girls in India. I hope they wake up to a different reality tomorrow. 

Heimat

In German, the word 'heimat' is something akin to 'homeland'. Don't go mistaking it for nationalism - its origins and implications go much deeper than that. It's the place where you feel at home, the feeling of warmth and belonging that you carry in your heart wherever you go. Heimat could be even a person or a memory or just a fragrance that triggers a flood of sensations. But usually, when people are asked, 'what is your heimatland' - they will answer that it is the place where they were born and/or grew up in, which is normally their motherland or country of origin. Me - I've never felt satisfied with that answer.

India is not my heimat - at least not in the way that others seem to resonate with their birth countries. You see, I didn't have a lot of friends growing up. Nor was my family overtly religious or culture-conscious. My fondest memories are of going for walks in the garden with my mom and reading endlessly in the verandah on sunny afternoons. So, for me, heimat is nature. Heimat is a sunny afternoon, quiet and swollen with the fragrance of flowers. Heimat is all those countries and places and people that I read about, dreamt of, and imagined that, were perhaps living fuller lives than me.

I was never very chatty with strangers. In fact, I think, over time, I lost track of what I could possibly say to my classmates. I endured school, even if I was good at acing my subjects. College was slightly better. Working life brought with it a sense of weariness as my rose-tinted glasses were forcibly taken away. Growing up as a girl in India wasn't a bed of roses. At home, there was equality, freedom, love, and spirituality. Outside, there was noise, pollution, crowds, molestation, religious fanaticism, patriarchy, stench and squalor.

I travelled as much as I could, to escape as often as was possible. I sat alone at cafes and wrote poetry. I watched dazzling sunsets and tried to romanticise all my experiences, however little they were. But I only feel at home now that I am away from India. It is a feeling that is hard to explain to most, irrespective of whether the listener is a fellow countryman or a foreigner. But yes, my mother's voice is heimat. And now, also the embrace of my husband. Heimat is also the silly hope that someday all of humanity will rise above pettiness and self-destruction.

A Plan For My Old Age

There was a time when the average lifespan for human beings was not more than 60 years. In some ways, it was a blessing. One did not have to reckon with 30-40 years of old age, often compounded by poor health, dwindling finances, and inevitable dependence on one's offspring. Of course, life is like a drug, and we can never have enough of it. On the positive side, post-retirement life is an opportunity to sit back and relax, unimpeded by the stress of a 9-to-5 job, child rearing, and the indefatigable ambitions of youth.

There are inspiring stories (and I personally know many) of senior citizens travelling the world, giving back to society, and living to the fullest until the very end. But equally, there is the problem of elderly people unable to pay mounting medical bills, being hoodwinked by children who sometimes strip them of their houses, and conversely, throttling their offspring and children in law with their own desires, unending demands, and need for control.

Take a look at the number of Indians contending with the problem of joint families, an unpalatable concept for many women (and men, though they rarely seem to voice it) used to independence, free will, and the joys of living on one's own terms. After all, how can one be expected to make a living, tend to one's children, find time for recreation, and also manage to look after elderly parents with psychological and/or physical ailments? Life is not meant to be so punishing. And so, here's what I plan for my old age.

1. I will not live with my children or force them to live with me once they get married. In fact, I might have a problem if they wanted to do so. I value my lifestyle and in my sunset years, I imagine that I'd want a quiet life with much contemplation. Why would I want to put up with their busy schedules and babysit their children even when I didn't have the energy? I would love, however, to get to know my son/daughter-in-law as a friend, be there for my children always, and live close by, so I could spend time with my grandchildren occasionally.

2. I would try my best to be as fit and healthy as possible. This of course must begin now, with regular exercise and a nutritious diet that will keep diseases at bay when old age weakens my immunity. I will ensure I have health insurance, walk regularly, get sunlight daily, and solve crosswords and learn new skills to avoid mental degeneration. I will try my best to keep up with technology, although I promise not to intrude into the lives of those who matter to me. If it happens that despite my best efforts I need constant care and attention, I would be more than willing to live in a nursing home, which brings me to my next point.

3. I will save enough for my sunset years. I will make sure I am dependent on no one, and have enough equity and investments to see me through my post-retirement life. I want to be able to finance my stay in a nursing home if required. I would also want to travel, and not be a burden on my children as far as possible.

4. I promise never to have a superiority complex because of my age alone. Everyone grows old - what's the achievement in that? Everyone deserves to be respected and heard - young and old. And in fact, each decade ushers in changes that requires us to evolve. Hanging on to the past and expecting the new generation to adhere to outdated customs - what satisfaction would that bring me?

5. If in spite of everything, I end up living under the same roof as my child, I would never try to assert myself as the head of the house or interfere in their decisions. I would give them the privacy they needed, and expect the same for myself. Young children can be noisy, and if that bothered me, I'd go for a walk in the park instead of asking them to stop enjoying their lives.

Tell me, what, in any of the points mentioned above is unethical, immoral, or evil-natured? Yet, I don't see anyone reflecting such opinions in today's India - be it the parents who seem to find illogical pleasure in poking their noses into their children's marriages, or the sons who fervently condemn 'western ideals' of living alone. Here is some food for thought - life is short, and love can exist even with some space. In fact, relationships flourish when there is room to breathe. What do you think?

No two days are exactly the same.

No two days are exactly the same. Sometimes, there’s a difference in the way the sunshine scatters the dust on the window ledge. And sometimes, it’s the stare of a passer-by on the street that hadn’t pierced my home yesterday. Today, I spotted a beautiful coppersmith barbet in the overgrowth surrounding the ruins of a building that never saw the light of day. The one other time I saw this little green bird with black markings and a bright red forehead was outside the bedroom window of my mother’s home. Back then, tall trees had their own wild way with our courtyard. Today, they’ve all been hewn and the rare birds have become rarer still, rather like the moments of euphoria in my home-bound life.

If there’s one thing I always look forward to, it’s making tea. The way the froth bubbles over the rim of the saucepan, emanating an intoxicating aroma of cardamom and masala infused in tea – it never fails to press a refresh button on my senses. I like the taste of tea too, but it doesn’t come close to the magic of experiencing its preparation. The process of tea being prepared is like the unfurling of a new day – I know the day will never live up to the promise of its glorious morning and yet, that doesn’t stop me from revelling in the promise itself. Seated on the very same window ledge we discussed earlier, I romance the cool morning air and imbibe the sight of fluttering leaves and the sound of twittering birds into my thirsty soul. My spirit doesn’t seem to thrive on things that enliven many of my peers – events, chatter and religion. Rather, it seeks the peace of unfettered nature, the freedom of religion-free godliness and the perfection of silence and solitude. These aspirations don’t exactly endear me to other people but what can I do – I shrivel when placed in the glare of social and cultural demands.

Sometimes I think that all of my soul resides in a mug of coffee had on a quiet, solitary evening enhanced by golden sunshine and pre-dusk birdsong. And at other trying times, my spirit hides inside me, in a phantom mug of coffee on an evening I cannot reach. I love art and good music and to dance but I love stillness most of all. The raucousness of parties and celebration, the strange and inescapable requirements of being an Indian, a woman and a daughter-in-law – they feel like echoes of a world that doesn’t really exist. All I know, is that I’m alive in a moment that is perfect, if only it was untainted by the illusory trappings of an unfair and rigid society.

Something has gone seriously wrong.

If you're reading this, please do so with a pinch of salt. Because it's that time of the month when hormones range and every other thing seems justifiable cause for tears. Or alternatively, a post like this.

Let's cut to 2012, when I was working in a Hindi channel (obviously, it wasn't the right place for me) in an insignificant job with no interests except finding love, getting drunk and occasionally writing fiction and poetry. It was a scary period in my life because I felt directionless. Then, I found a better job in a better place and at the end of the following year, I found love as well, though I was lonely otherwise. I was still drinking, writing and having spiritual epiphanies now and then. Life wasn't all that bad.

2015 though, was a euphoric year. My job wasn't living up to my expectations but I discovered travel writing. It ignited every recess of my soul and the few readers I had, encouraged my humble, dreamy travelogues. Then, I went on a trip where I met many 'professional' travel bloggers and my perception of the vocation changed. I discovered possibilities that could possibly turn my little blog into a career and leave me free of the obligation of having an unsatisfying job. The sad truth is that jobs rarely make you happy. At times, you have an enjoyable work culture and colleagues. At other times, you have a job description that is supposedly everything you ever wanted to do. But the indisputable truth is that you will always be following orders. And at some point or the other, there will be a dissonance between what you want to do and what you are expected to. For some people, this kind of discord is matter of course. For me, it causes deep-seated and long-lasting anxiety, bordering on depression.

As a child, I was always sure I wanted to be a writer. I also wanted to be a novelist. I thought I'd find great success and live with love and nature around me. Today, I find myself devoid of the motivation and inspiration required to be a novelist. The readers of my blog berate me for having 'sold out'. And my job is in jeopardy for reasons I cannot reveal. My personal life is all right but that was never the focus for a driven introvert like me.

I was a topper throughout my student life. I've heard a lot of people say it's only about rote memory but I thought I was intelligent, not just in the scoring marks kind of way (please indulge me). The impression I usually left, was of one who'd pursue success. But I haven't, have I? Success for my soul means writing only the good stuff. And that's not going to pay the bills. To be paid for writing the good stuff, you have to be f***ing brilliant - path breaking journalism, talking to the locals, delving deep - that kind of thing. Me - I'm only good for waxing eloquent about the light between the leaves and the sweet curves of a ravine. The worst thing about all this is that I'm not even free to vent on the world wide web. We're all being monitored. I always thought that was paranoia earlier. I know better now.

In spite of all that has gone wrong, I know deep down that I'm responsible for most of it. And I do believe in guardian angels. They keep us afloat even when we make bad decisions, fail to listen to our hearts or see the big picture. Best of all, they remind us that change is always possible. I could remedy most of what has gone awry. But many questions remain. And I've begged the Universe for guidance.

Let go of anger in 2017.

I've had one major problem (self-created sadly) that has dogged me for all of 2016. It has been rising in proportion since the last few years and threatens to overwhelm me completely. It's the emotion that is of absolutely no use unless directed towards fruitful effort: anger.

You wouldn't be too far off the mark describing me as an 'Angry Young Woman'. I wasn't always like this but lately, I've let every slight annoyance, be it an event, an utterance or a person, to take me to the point of extreme agitation. My skin grows flushed, my heartbeat quickens I do something I shouldn't and within a few minutes, it's all over, leaving behind that familiar sinking feeling. Yes, I almost always apologise and do my utmost to make amends. But it has happened so many times that I've lost count of the number of times I've said 'sorry'. And I don't want to do this anymore.

I've always believed that anger is a result of ego. People who are too puffed up with pride feel offended at the slightest injury to their egos. I'm afraid I may have joined that ignominious category. I tend to take everything personally and I have a very thin skin. I'm oversensitive and it's all too easy to take refuge in fury. I also take everything too seriously. Why should a colleague's behaviour matter so much? I should reserve the angst for the truly important things. Do you have the same problem as me? Then maybe both of us can benefit from these tips:

1. Delay every angry reaction by 30 minutes (or until you forget about the incident). If you still feel as disturbed, evaluate your response and then take action. Anger is born of impulse and in the absence of the rush of fury, it's almost impossible to be as angry.

2. Stop taking pride in anger. It's not a sign of strength or courage. It merely points to your instability and inability to treat things with maturity and equanimity. Instead, start taking pride in remaining unruffled. It's a skill that will take you far in life.

3. Smile or diffuse the situation with humour, whenever a tense circumstance develops. I'm not great at impromptu jokes but even I can't hold on to my temper if I smile genuinely.

4. Understand that it is never okay to be rude. Verbal abuse is still abuse. Even if the other person is in the wrong, you have no right to lambast them. Everyone has a right to be treated with courtesy, even if that person is your spouse or child. The truth in your words isn't affected by the tone or volume at which they are delivered.

5. Say "I will not be angry today. I will stay calm." ten times every morning prior to meditation. Write it down ten times when you come to work. Repeat it in your mind ten times before you go to sleep. Let the intention to stay calm echo in every corridor of your mind, heart and soul. Anger is destructive and deserves to be banished.

6. This tip is personal to me but may work for you if like me, you get agitated by certain types of injustice in the world. For me, I feel a rush of fury whenever I read about crimes against women or the environment. I have made a conscious decision to avoid such news items and to give them minimal attention even if I do encounter them. The right response to my concern is to do something to improve matters - not ruin my health with anger.

7. Treat other people like you would treat yourself. Respect them and never talk down. Understand that people behave according to their own value systems. They might not think like you do, but that doesn't always make them wrong or bad. They have no obligation to listen to you or change according to your desires.

8. Learn to be humble. You can't take credit for your life or the advantages you were born with. What's the point in being egoistic about that which has been granted to you and that which will be taken away one day?

9. Be steadfast in your devotion to your own health and happiness. Anger will never make you happy. Calmness and contentment will. Anger will mess with your health by causing you stress. Why put your body and mind through all that trouble?

10. Don't sweat the small stuff. Small irritations are like insects - you can swat them away but they may return, again and again. But do they stop you from living your life and enjoying what you do? Not at all. Don't bother about trivialities that are out of your control.

So I guess I have made a New Year resolution after all. I will let go of anger in 2017. In fact, I have already done so. What about you?

Spare me the information overload!

I don't like travelling in groups. I rarely like doing anything in groups. But agencies/brands/PR love organising group FAMs (familiarisation trips a.k.a. sponsored trips for the purpose of promotion). And as a mediocre earner who worships travel, who am I to complain? But seriously, there's nothing more annoying than being subjected to the same images and videos from 20 different bloggers/travellers/writers over the same period of time. After a point, it feels like being brainwashed; like the worst form of advertisement. Tourism agencies, you really don't want that. And I wonder what insights one could probably have about a place when one is so busy photographing/recording/posting every other minute in a bid to outdo every other person on the same trip?

1.5 years into travel blogging, I still crave individual invites because isn't travel more about immersing and experiencing than competing to give the maximum coverage and ruining the surprise completely for future visitors? People really have forgotten the art of teasing with the right amount of information over overdosing with a barrage of photos and videos that leave little unsaid.

I've faced some flak over my preference for words even in this "instant era" of images, videos, Snapchats and Youtube. But the problem with videos/images is that they leave little to imagination. And that's why I still prefer the layered mystery of words over anything else. Videos and photographs can also be thought-provoking but they have to be very well thought-through and executed for that. That requires planning, time and technical expertise. That's not the case with words. Even a few drunken scribbles on a tissue paper can be profound. Because that's just how words are. They let our minds wander, leave room for interpretation and inspire thirst to experience what the writer did, without giving away the entire story.

Frankly, if I had seen a 100 videos of the Eiffel Tower before I actually went there, I can't imagine how underwhelmed I would've felt. I'm glad I was relatively unexposed to social media in those days. And even now, any research I conduct is purely relating to the itinerary. I am definitely not interested in seeing edited versions of a place I'd rather perceive with a fresh set of eyes.

Brands and agencies crowd this age of information load with their demands for more and more posts, more and more coverage, more and more live tweets. It's never ending. In my opinion, two or three posts a day are more than enough, as long as there is some variation between various social media streams. Let the traveller soak in the place, spend hours staring into the foliage and jotting down thoughts in a diary.

I know I'm being dismissive but I really feel apps like Snapchats are designed for frivolity. What could you possibly convey in five words and a picture? A lot, I'm sure some would say. But I know for sure that I could convey a lot more than that with a 140 character tweet or a 500 word blog post. And I'd rather do it when I'm travelling for myself, than with a gaggle of voices constantly intruding into my blooming love affair with a new destination.

A demon called egotism

They say that the flaws you see in others are a reflection of the flaws in your own self. If that is indeed true, it means I'm egoistic and rude. Because honestly, inflated egos and a predilection for rudeness are all I've been witnessing at my workplace lately. Whatever I do, I don't seem to be able to command a healthy level of respect, admiration or even a feeling of being liked. It's a Herculean task for me to get anything accomplished that requires the assistance and/or cooperation of other people. This is why I've always preferred being a solo player. I simply cannot deal with the idiosyncracies of people.

I believe that character quirks have no place at the workplace. Whether you don't like taking orders or being told what to do by a woman, you have to do what is required of you at the workplace. I see smooth talkers having an easy time of it with well-timed jokes and a decent dose of man-to-man inappropriateness. I'm not sure this is a man v/s woman issue but I wonder if my being a relatively young woman has something to do with the fact that men don't seem to want to listen to me, address me by the disrespectful Hindi title 'tu' or feel they have the right to speak to me rudely. Case in point - I asked a designer to align a few lines of text on a page-making software and he flatly told me it couldn't be done. Reality - I managed to do most of it myself; so I knew for a fact that he was merely giving me a hard time.

People have often given me a hard time. Can you then blame for me wanting to shun them whenever I can? I love the people I hold close - the ones who are there for me. I know that strangers have no obligation to you. But as colleagues, don't we have an unwritten requirement for courtesy, teamwork and sincerity? The other day, a pantry boy screamed at me for purportedly using the wrong cup for hot water. He has a system which in my opinion, I have understood. But he still gives me a hard time. A showdown or two later, he still hasn't apologised.

Don't think I haven't noticed that these incidents seem to occur with me most often, though other colleagues have also occasionally faced issues. I know for a fact that I have a hot temper and an ego that rears its head now and then. Ego in itself is merely an affirmation of one's identity but egoism on the other hand brings a fall sense of superiority and alienates one from other people. Trust me, I have tried my best to be humble and respectful whenever I can. But after numerous episodes, I've lost my desire to try. I feel like I should return rudeness with rudeness.

Gandhiji's words - 'an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind' resound in my ears. I know it isn't the right approach. Every morning when I wake up, I reaffirm my commitment to humility, good temper and contentment. But as the day advances, irritations pool within the insides of my head and give me a headache. I am done with this daily routine of dealing with - and then suddenly, someone is nice to me unexpectedly. And everything seems a bit better. I gather the courage to brave another day and another bucketful of temperamental challenges.

When I went cafe-hopping

Roman figurines grace the backs of the wrought iron chairs at Gaylord Cafe

I'm sitting on a corner table at Gaylord Cafe and having kona coffee! (Kona is corner in Hindi) Other people go bar-hopping. Here, I am cafe hopping with Murakami and fresh muffins for company. It's strange but I never before noticed the Roman figures carved into the backs of the wrought iron chairs here. Then again, it's not that strange. Sometimes, I suspect that I 'unsee' more things than I do see. What a terrible tragedy. Most often, our gazes are turned inwards, enraptured by the sea of endless sights and sounds that our minds churn up. Now and then, some froth will rise to the fore and from it, a pearl of an idea will emerge. But that pearl is like a drop in the ocean. So I must remind myself to see without, more often.

At a crossing near Churchgate station, I realised that among the things I love most is the tendency of decisions to be formed all on their own. At Kitab Khana's Food for Soul, I simply couldn't choose between three flavours of cupcakes. Yet, when the waiter arrived, my lips formed the words with clear certainty - oreo cupcake. And what a good decision it turned out to be! A better example would be the way my feet continued to move, from Fort to Churchgate, and onwards, charting a course whose destination was unknown to me. I used to think I was a little insane for the pleasure I derive out of aimless wanderings, until I came across several Murakami and Orhan Pamuk characters who did the same. Or maybe, that's just further proof of my insanity. Some day, I would like to temporarily relinquish my bipedal status and view the world from a different vantage point.

A little unrest, a little poignancy - is like that essential pinch of salt in any good work of art - be it a composition or a poem. And like sunflowers reaching out to the sun, some knot within our soul unties itself and gravitates towards the song/poem.

It is funny how the music fades out the second the words in one's novel start sinking in. Only when the waiter began humming a few lines did I realise that the cafe was playing the instrumental version of the Hindi oldie 'tumse milke'. Oddly enough, the music went with the story I was reading - the protagonist had just begun to read a letter written by his beloved. But it wasn't a love letter - at least not in the conventional sense.

A useless train of thought.

Now and then,
I will indulge -
A useless train of thought.

Such as this -

What if
I liked everyone and everyone liked me
I'd never said an unkind word to anyone
And no one had ever said an unkind word to me.
I'd never known unhappiness
And neither had the world
And none of us judged
And none of us spurned
Anyone,
Ever.

I don't understand modern-day friendships.

Wikimedia Commons

I don't understand modern-day friendships. I don't understand tagging people, sharing private conversations and declaring your fondness for special ones to the world. I don't understand the attribution of degrees like best and better. I don't understand the constant shifting of people under the tag of 'best friend'. I don't understand competing and kiss emoticons and 100 different 'close friends'. I simply don't understand Facebook likes (and the failure to do so) and keeping in touch with 50 different 'friends' over 10 different platforms every single day. I don't understand the baring of hearts to so many different people at different points.

Small talk, parties, dances with veritable strangers ('good friends' a day after meeting them), inclusions, exclusions (of those not 'cool' enough), back-biting (in the name of humour), flattery laced with malice, frenemies, compartmentalised buddies - all of it is Greek to me.

All I understand is this: loving a few and loving them truly; enjoying their company irrespective of Facebook status updates and Foursquare check-ins and boastful selfies on Twitter. I understand trivial conversations and philosophical arguments. I understand baring my heart to a special person or two. I understand cherishing the great moments and putting them up on the walls of my memory (not virtual walls). I understand the occasional post when you're truly overwhelmed; its specialness ensconced in its rarity. I understand friendship like I understand nature - silent and deep, with an occasional ripple.

Yes, I have only a few good friends and perhaps, that's my karma. Perhaps my folly lies in judging those with a 1000 invitees to their wedding. Perhaps, they have a lot more colour and fervour in their lives. But I'll never be them. They'll never be me. And never the twain shall meet.

Label yourself.

Today, I read an excellent article about hypersomnia and by the end of it, I was really eager to find out who had written it. There it was at the bottom of the page - Virginia Hughes, science editor. Those two words 'science editor' stood out like a beacon in the dark. I was intrigued. Who exactly is a science editor? Is she a scientist or a journalist? I Googled Virginia Hughes and found that she had an impeccable profile - a bachelors in neuroscience from no less than Brown University (an Ivy League institution) and a masters in science writing from The John Hopkins University. Did you even know that one can get a masters degree in 'science writing'? I didn't. Her professional record was even better, spanning names such as Discovery and National Geographic and displaying a steady ascent up the corporate ladder. How does someone achieve such an exceptional level of what I define as success? (I believe one is successful when one is the best or one of the best in one's field). No doubt, Hughes must be really intelligent but what sets me thinking more, is how certain she must have been on what she wanted to do in life. She liked science. She was a good writer. There were a million options before her. But she had the knack of bringing a passion and a skill together to produce a career that would probably never ever bore her. Can you say the same about the profession you're engaged in? Me, I am where I want to be, but I guess I'm too much of a generalist. Maybe you are, too. And so, say what you will, but labels are so intoxicating. And if you can't label who you want to be, how can you even get there?

Corporate writer. Travel blogger. The second I embellished my profile with these labels, I felt better. I felt more purposeful and clearer about who I was and where I was going. If you want to achieve a goal, you have it to be able to put a label on it. Award-winning novelist. Does that sound pretentious? It does to me too, but it also absolves me from wasting my time on penny press fiction. Because I know that's not what I'm aiming at. If I'd said I want to be a best-selling novelist, the direction of my efforts would vary. I've been writing travelogues ever since I began travelling. But it was only when I felt confident enough to call myself a 'travel blogger' that I actually realised how much I enjoyed the activity and how committed I was to it. As a bonus effect, associating myself with the label increases my commitment to it even more. No you can't be an 'avid reader' if all you read is one book in three months. Label yourself but find a label that really means something to you; find one that aptly defines the person you dream of being. Find it, and do your very best to make it your own. Be someone.

P.S.: Labelling yourself on the basis of your beliefs and preferences (such as religion) will do little to make you a success. We're talking about action-oriented labels here.

I write on travel at Trail-stained Fingers. Feel free to get in touch through the website or connect on Facebook or Twitter.

Would you give up anything for love?

By Jasaya on deviantart.com

It's a humbling feeling when you realise you'd do just about anything; give up the things you hold most dear and adopt that which you never identified with, to be with the one you love. Yes, you scoffed at people when they did it for the ones they loved. You said they were weak and lacked individuality. You said no one should bow down to such demands - even for love. And you were certain, you'd never be so pathetic. You'd never put another person before your own needs and you'd never choose anything over your own desires. Me first. That was your motto. Yet, now you humbly accept, that nothing would mean anything without your soul mate. And with them in your life, even the things that meant nothing - they suddenly add joy to your life. Yes, it's sad that the world is built such that you have to make all these sacrifices. But truth is, you do them quite happily. Because what you get in exchange is just too sweet - sweet enough to temper the pain of what you have to lose.

Always another way.

There are -
more ways than one
to spread sunny cheer
and some may do it through their speech
elating those around and near
and some may do it through their art
gladdening those far and apart
So worry not
if you make none smile
There's always another way
to go that extra mile.

I don't know why I wrote that - I think it's because I always worry, that because I'm quiet and rarely perceived as the 'nice one', I may not be doing such a great job of spreading joy in this world. And trust me, that's the only goal worth having. It's the only resolution worth making, Nietzsche has convinced me. Reading about his decision to 'beautify the world', I found myself greatly troubled. I'm not funny and I barely say a word, except to the precious few that are closest to me. Am I contributing to people's lives in any way at all? I'm not the one many would approach in their time of need and I'm not the one they'd turn to if they needed cheering up. Then am I living a selfish existence - adding nothing; yet taking from the world?

And that's when it struck me - there is more than one way to spread cheer. It's not easy to light a spark in the hearts of those miles, countries away, and yet, I do believe I achieve that impossible task, sometimes, with a line or two that rings particularly well with the reader. And I do believe, cheering the distant reader isn't any less than humoring the nearby neighbour. That thought comforts me and lessens my unease at being an introvert who is extremely lazy about conversations and people relations.

The road not taken: What could have been.

I define myself primarily as a writer. It doesn't matter what I write about or for whom. What matters is, I work with words. I arrange them in a way that they (hopefully) create value. But I did not always plan on doing this for 48 hours a week.

Back in school, I loved animals and plants. I observed birds, wrote about exotic species and obsessively memorised the details of butterflies I hoped to spot. I entertained dreams of becoming an environmentalist or studying biodiversity, at the very least. The reason I didn't do it is really silly - I wasn't great at mathematics. And I was under the (perhaps erroneous) impression that it is impossible to get ahead in the science stream without a passion and an aptitude for numbers. I chose the safer route - I went for Arts. Languages and social sciences were my fortes. There was no way I could go wrong with that. And indeed, I didn't.

Yet when I saw LinkedIn's new hashtag #RoadNotTaken, the one regret that came to mind was the passion I sacrificed at the altar of practicality. There were many things I know now, that I wish someone had told me then. I wish someone had told me that you do not have to study journalism or writing or English, to be a good and even a professional writer. I wish I had known that subject matter expertise actually allows you more scope in writing, as it gives you in-depth knowledge of one area, rather than a shallow overview of many. I wish I had known that one did not have to excel at mathematics in order to study biology. I wish someone had alerted me about the fact that being a scientist was an excellent choice for my introverted personality. Above all, I wish I had had the courage to explore something beyond my obvious strengths.

However, the thing about the #RoadNotTaken is, you'll never know where it might have led. Maybe, aiming to be an environmentalist would have turned out to be a monumental mistake. Yet, I do believe that there are no mistakes in life. There are only choices and consequences. If you're fortunate enough to get an opportunity to take the #RoadNotTaken even after you've made a choice, I suggest you don't let it go. Because the 'what ifs' always return to haunt you, sometime or the other.

The other thing I want to emphasise on is the need to guide students better and make all kinds of practical job-related information available to them. They need much more than a cursory knowledge of the top three careers related to each stream - Arts, Science and Commerce. They need to know about salaries, long-term prospects and the trade-off in choosing one discipline over the other. They require access to well-informed career advisors and counsellors. And they need to be told that fear has no place in the quest for success and fulfilment. Then perhaps, there will be fewer #RoadsNotTaken.

Do you have a #RoadNotTaken story to share? I'd love to hear it.

This post was originally published at https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/article/20141120110448-47567319--roadnottaken-what-could-have-been

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Of friends, acquaintances and almost-strangers.

Courtesy: Alexramos10 on Pixabay

Friendship was easy when we were in kindergarten - we met those kids everyday - we played, we talked and occasionally, we were invited to each other's homes. We didn't squabble over why we didn't call each other often enough or take offense over innocent remarks. Oh, we might have broken each other's toys or given each other memorable bruises but hey, all was fair in love and war.

I had a lot of friends back then. I still do. But I have no idea if they'll be my friends seven years hence - or for that matter, even seven days hence. Because it seems like no one (including me) makes an effort any more. And when we do, the chances of causing damage seem much higher than getting it right.

Friendship is easiest when you see your friend everyday - perhaps at work, the gym or at college. But when you don't, be prepared to deal with innumerable idiosyncrasies of human behaviour and psychology (yours as well as your friend's). Sometimes you'll be left wondering why they haven't kept in touch and sometimes, you'll be the one giving someone else a sleepless night. Eventually, it becomes less about enjoying good times together and more about treading on eggshells.

It's pretty hilarious how our definition of 'friend' has watered down to something like 'Yeah we hang out together. Sometimes.' It's only the dictionary that seems to believe that a friend is 'a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection'. I think, our friendships today have become trapped in the notion of being together, physically. The idea of friendships that survive the years, irrespective of distances and time is alien to us. And this is strange because technology actually makes it easier to sustain relationships. Instead, we use technology to reach out to more people and undermine older connections in pursuit of newer ones.

Recently, a study (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2534950/We-demote-old-friends-new-ones-arrive-Research-finds-natural-limit-number-people-stay-touch-with.html) showed that when we make new friends, by starting a new job or going to university, we downgrade or even drop old ones. Who makes the cut and who doesn't? Friendship seems to have become a competitive sport and more often than not, I lack the energy to play it.