Feeling Secure

Remember those long drives with your family, when you were small? When even an hour ride would feel like forever.

Remember when your dad drove the car when the stars were out? You would watch vehicles zoom by. And watch the headlights of the oncoming vehicles. Fasinated by the yellow light. And you would wonder, “How does dad not get distracted by them lights while driving?” Until, your eyes got tired and heavy. You would like down on the backseat, watching the stars. Blink several times in a vain attempt to keep yourself awake. And the next time you open your eyes, it’s morning already and you are snugly wrapped inside your blanket.

All that is left is a faint memory of a touch. Of being lifted and held close to mom’s/dad’s heart. Head resting on the shoulder as one hand held your head in place. Gently put you in bed. Tucked you in your favourite blanket.

Just like that the world was at peace. Secure.

Remember that feeling?


Embracing “Noise”

The “noise”, as I called, bothered me. It was chaotic in my house. Bedtime was the time where “peace”, as I called it, was cherished.

Silence and calm was much craved for.

One day, I got what I wished for: A full day and half of silence and calm.

But after an hour, it was unbearable. It felt empty and hollow. I had thrived in this particular chaos, I realised. The one or two hour of silence before bedtime was perfect and enough to recharge.

I realised: I missed the life in my house, that thing that I had once called noise and chaos.

What good was the peace without family and their voices and TV channels booming in the home? What’s anything without their existence?

Bread Samosa

I was on a vacation in Hong Kong. We had spent the day walking. It was a very good and satisfying day. It was so good, that I had found my old appetite rumbling in my stomach. And that appetite brought this strong craving on my tongue: a strong want to eat India Chat. I had traveled down from India to explore this place, and yet this thing in me wanted to eat desi street food. But, I kept mum. Thinking this isn’t what he would like to eat. And yet, this man, to my great surprise and happiness asked, “Would you like to eat dahi puri?” I was wondering if he could read my brain waves.

There in Hong Kong, when we were eating the dahi puris with some addition of samosa chat, I got hit by this strong wave of nostalgia:

I would wait eagerly for my parents to come back home from work. I would be in the garden with my pupper. Waiting for them to walk inside the green gate, just to run close to whoever comes home first and ask, “Can we have bread samosa for dinner?” The day we would have it was like a picnic at home, but at night. Would be noisy, cosy and fun. Like some kind of celebration. The walk with my father to the shop to buy fresh out of wok samosas. Holding his fingers. Walk back home to eagerly eat the hot samosas, flattened and pressed firmly between two breads. And the satisfaction once the first bite was savoured…

I missed it.

Then today happened. We were out, my father, sister and my niece. While each ran their errand, I entered a small shop. One place which came close to making samosas like the samosa shop in the place I grew up. And I had the question in my head again. I turned around to find that my father had followed me in the shop with his cup of coffee. I asked the same question, “Can we have bread samosa for dinner?”

He smiled. Maybe the nostalgia had hit him too. And he answered saying he was just going to ask if he should get some bread for the night.

It was a celebration again. This time it was for my new job. I couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate.

Somehow, the mood was better. Like we had grip on something and that it wasn’t lost. I saw the old me. The old, easy bond I had with my father came back. He was happy. Genuinely happy. Happy to do this. Let his grown up be a child.

We were excited.

My mother was excited when I told her. It made me happy. Somehow the atmosphere felt familiar. It was warm, cosy and celebratory again. Though it was disastrous: the samosas were too spicy for our taste, yet it was the emotions that mattered.

It was about the simple pleasures. Most of the time works like a charm.

Passion, Love & Compassion

Before the corporate world sucks our souls into a space which will be devoid of the spunk and all the color we keep splashing around, I want this as a reminder:

I finally understood what passion is. Something that I’ll always want to do. It is something that will make me forget everything around me and my world will revolve around it. It is something which makes my eyes look alive. It is something which makes my voice sound full of life. It is something which will make me see everything about it everywhere, even on the street I’m walking on. It is something which will make me stop distracting myself with stupid teenage wastes. It is something I’d really enjoy. Like one of those sweet little pleasures of life.

Now, it is one thing to take what the corporate world offers you and forget everything. You are then that frog which got too comfortable in the water which was warm, till it starts boiling and then you can do nothing about it but suffocate and give in. Or you can be that frog, that kept on flapping its leg around till there was a fresh layer of butter and stepped on it and jumped out of that big container. And the another thing is: Take a risk.

What’s life without risks? What is life if you haven’t done what you always wanted to do? What is life if you always “go with the flow” and then one day sit back and wonder “what if…”?

Now, this is passion talking. It’s making me want to take the risk. But hey, in the end, it will be totally worth it. Tough decisions always, always have the sweetest outcomes.

Love. It is one of the most beautiful thing ever in this world. It is profound.

At times you might assume, the person who loves you the most, lets you be, because he thinks you need to learn to survive. That you need to learn everything about life on your own with a little nudge from his end now and then. That you need to learn to decide about anything on your own. He listens when you talk. He will see you in every avatar of yours.

Assumptions. Silly, silly assumptions. Hey you, surprise! One day you see his love is so profound that he has this invisible sheath of protective cover wrapped around you, his arms all around you. His voice like that of a thundering thunder, roaring when someone doesn’t treat his baby right. And you feel safe again. That’s the amazing beauty of love.

And this taught me one thing: compassion.

It is not a flaw to hold myself from showing it. When there is love, there is compassion.

It is not because I’m special that I’m loved by so many. It is because I’m loved by so many that makes me so special and lucky. Very lucky. 🙂