The final goodbye.

What scares me about death is more than just how final it is. It's scary that after death the persons thoughts, ideas, jokes, quirks and personality cease to exist almost like it was never there...except for those few loved ones they leave behind.

The person's smile which carries a loaded message, that look which conveys more than a thousand words, the advice which masks the worry they feel for you, the laughter that reveals more about them than anything else - all gone...except in the memories of the few people who care enough to remember.

I care. I want to remember.  I will never forget a single detail about you. Every word you said will remain etched in my memory. I promise to always carry you in my heart...till I die.

I will not take anyone I love for granted - you mean the world to me and I need you to know it while I can make it known to you.

Chasing the clock.

I must admit. I just must. I wouldn't feel right if I didn't.

There was a time when I would work through the night and love the rush and the angst and the fuzzy sense of achievement when I'd press that send button. I loved meshing my friends into my colleagues and my life into my office. I felt a sense of misplaced awe when I heard people talk about always being busy. I felt a sense of false pride in saying that I had bitten off more than I could chew. I would then over compensate for it by partying like my right to party had been brutally snatched away and recently been returned.

Then I became unemployed. And I fell in love. With someone who used to work like that too. 

I lived a life of owning my time, of being busy with the things that mattered to me and the people around me, my friends were just that, I didn't have my eyes fixated on my watch or my heart fixated on every new email that came into my inbox... my time was my own. I learnt French and I subtitled movies and I drove my car and I visited my parents and I celebrated every small moment with the people I love and I never had to wonder if I could make it to your wedding six months from now.

But a little part of me craved that life. That life that has a one way window... you can't even tell what the weather is like outside. When you're in, you're in. Everyone is like you. Everyone is racing. There's time only for a courtesy nod. You're lucky if you're a smoker because that's the only time you'll ever breathe real air.

And now I'm back in it. And I can't stop wondering what the answer is. I need money. I need time. If this is the only way to make money, I'm never going to have the time. If I'm not going to make money then I'm not going to enjoy my time. The more money I have, the better I can enjoy my time, which I don't have. If I have medium money, I can mediumly enjoy my adequate time. If I don't.... what, wait!!!.... that's it. Medium money. I'm fine with mediumly enjoying my adequate time!!!

How can I make medium money? I think the answer lies in defining what medium money and adequate time means to me.

Errr...wazzat now?

"Dude, what vegetable is this?" "No bloody idea, man. Must be something unpopular." "Is this even edible?" "Woah, this looks gross!"

 

I paraphrase from common grocery-shopping-talk by the younger generation, innit? How many times do we wonder what half those vegetables granny used to make were; or why a tomato is a fruit; or why the hell are olives good for health? Usually, no idea!

Somehow, with the generation getting more and more adept at technology and science, the science of well being is, ironically, in a vegetative state. I remember my grandmum telling me that whenever the kids at home had an ailment, could be anything – from stomach cramps to a bad personality – her grandmom used to take them to the basement and in classic wizard style mix and concoct portions of cloves and herbs and garlic sticks and everything mysterious into one suspicious looking black ball and shove it down their throats. Surprise of surprises, it works magic and the world is cleared of all its ills. Alas, this suspicious looking black ball recipe never made it as a Dear Diary entry and no one ever knew about it again. Hell, that's exactly what happened to Nalanda. When the Turks destroyed one of the leading universities of the world to massage a false ego, how come it was never rebuilt? All those books in the library that burnt non-stop for months together couldn't really have been the only storehouse of all that information, surely? The professors, students, other academicians, the king; they could have put it back together again. No? Well, clearly not. Same thing is happening to our generation. Just because everything is available so readily and freely on the all-knowing, genius internet, no one bothers to write things down anymore. Says me, as I type this post. Imagine if the internet were to crash to its fatal death tomorrow. No back-ups, no knowledge at the click of a mouse, no answers to Life, the Universe and Everything.

 

Sickening, stupid silence.

 

Knowledge is power. But knowledge without the ability to recall it when it is needed the most – is irrelevant.

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Keep dancing!

Seemingly unimportant things make the most important of differences. Why do Bollywood movies have songs – to make the rest of the movie easier to digest. Why do artists have eccentricities – to make an excuse for freedom of expression. Why are scientists mad – so that they continuously think outside the box. These additions are necessary to maintain equilibrium and propel growth, even if they aren't at the crux of their being. So there might be a higher purpose to the existence of cities, but at the helm is the all important additions of maintaining administrative matters like roads, drainage, transportation, optimal use of taxes, education, eradication of poverty, health care and the mammoth – infrastructure.

The way I look at it – civic amenities are like great morning sex. If it happens like it should, you'll dance your day through. If I wake up in the morning and electricity is not disconnected, water is available, food prices are in check – I'll be on my way in a jiffy. If the roads are pothole-free and not flooded with rain water because of good drainage systems, pedestrians have footpaths to walk on, drivers have lanes to follow – I'll make no bones about getting to wherever I have to go. If city planning is at its pinnacle and one-way roads are actually helping move traffic faster, the metro lines aren't collapsing on me and there are lesser poor people on the streets – I promise to honk less and smile more. If I don't need to be wary of service or quality when I step into a hospital, believe that higher education is not just a scheme and am insured of the fact that the authorities have done their job in due diligence on companies where I'm placing my life's savings –I'll be happy to help with my share of taxes.

And then when I get to work, I will be composed and relaxed and will not aggressively shove my work down my underlings throat…because I don't feel angry and cheated. I will be productive and powerful and responsible. This is the second most important thing for development – hey snob, do your job! If everybody buckles down and performs his assigned task to near perfection, can you imagine what levels of progress this well oiled machine of a country will achieve? Then the only real problems we will have are the foreign policies, home ministries, terrorism, slowing economies and probably judgment day. But hey, I'm cool with that as long as I'm dancing.

Loving the kms.

There's something about being on the road. It just makes sense...everything clears up, jealousy evaporates, anger dissipates, stress disappears....every sense that spurs negativity just dulls completely.

The open road, the rhythm of the wheels, the background score by the engine, constant gushing of the breeze against the half open windows, the lullaby of the forward motion...it's just you, and the road.

On a metaphysical level, road journeys can alter your thinking, bonding, connection with beings - human or otherwise - and it enriches the core of your existence with education richer than many texts.

Road trips have always been about music and laughter and chatter and small dhabas on the highway for food and controlling of overfull bladders and sometimes even compromising modesty for sheer survival :ie peeing behind the closest bush. Heck, for me, the destination may be something I forget, but the journey there will always be an experience to remember.

I can't wait to do road trips and hitch hike and just take off into the horizon....and the best part about being married is that I always got great company :)

For you.

Breathing is a involuntary action is what they taught me when I was a tiny tot in school....unlike motor skills where your brain is in charge and initiates movement to achieve something...but breathing, it's involuntary.

Today I caught myself actually not breathing while lost in thought. I just stopped breathing. My mind wandered off while it left my body standing by the sidelines of it's racetrack. Of course when my lungs suddenly burst out in tears for air, is when I came to and lapped up a pretty big sip of O2. How can someone forget to breathe? Even when someone is panicking, you will see the calmer person telling them to "breathe...just remember to breathe"!

If you have to 'remember' to breathe, how is that involuntary?
Or is there a deeper moral to be learnt here?

No matter how naturally it comes to you, no matter how easily available the resources are, no matter how basic and essential it is to you - don't ever take it for granted!! When you're buried in work, take time out for your family and friends. When you're too preoccupied with the goings on of life's daily stress, take time out to read your favourite book. When you're too unsure or too insecure or too obsessed, don't forget to breathe. and the biggest lesson of all - do it for yourself.

When the time is right.

Timing.

Timing is a beautiful thing... when it works out :) 

I just watched a movie that lent more than just entertainment to my idle mind this Thursday. It's a movie about a mother, a housewife, who is taken for granted by her husband and children but still learns how to live life on her own terms. She thinks openly, loves freely and lives with blissful abandon while she lays out the cobblestones of her preferred path while still never letting go of the hands of her unworthy family. It gave a much needed backing to my own views about people. Regardless of qualification or communication or interests or intent...everyone around you is worthy. Worthy of your respect. Worthy of a kind word. Worthy of a smile. Worthy of a helping hand. Worthy of your attention.

Everyone deserves to be treated as an equal...respect them for who they are, you will not be disappointed.

People will forget what you did for them or what you said. But people will never forget how you made them feel.

True story.

Karma, baby, I love you :)