Saturday 24 December 2016

Come what may…

Isn't twenties a great phase in life? I also engaged in that illusory belief until reality shook me out of my complacency. Being in my late twenties now I know better. 

My entry into twenties was surreal and was filled with countless dreams and aspirations. My days were ridden with bucket-lists of this and that and motley of things to be done before I celebrate my twenty-fifth birthday. Writing, reading, travelling, cooking, and many more… Here am I turning twenty-eight, and still wondering what worthwhile had happened in my life at this juncture. I am not cribbing and whining that things didn't go the way I presumed; but I can't deny the twists and turns that sprang up. Disgruntled though I may sound, I am quite happy the way things panned out. I have eventually realised that happiness is a state of mind, and as much as I seek it outside of me it further evades my grasp. 

Coming 2017, I look back at the road travelled. Bumpy and bone-breaking as it might have been, the rides were/are (past though they be, they lead to my present) memorable and I wouldn't trade them for better days. 

I always feel amused when I read Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken,” for ironically, the road not taken remains the offbeat, untraversed path in my life. The road taken by me conforms with the traditional view that people have of professions — teaching (at college). Isn't teaching the most preferred profession for a woman? It is surely not the road “less travelled”; and undoubtedly not the road that I wished for. Yet, it is a road that had revealed to me the happiness that lies in teaching. Enthralled by the sheer joy of teaching, I think it almost impossible for me to take the other of the “two roads.” I simultaneously possess the wisdom that life may continue to throw surprises, and I am prepared to take them as they come. In all likelihood, it could even help me find the way back to the long-forgotten road that I wished to take.


Wishing myself an eventful 2017! 

Monday 19 December 2016

How about some 'me' time?

Whenever I feel lost, and wish to reclaim the "me" in me, I rush to the nearest cinema theatre -- the darkness of the hall helps me find some light within me. As I am ushered into the hall by the vague-eyed lanky guy, a tide of calmness washes me over. I know not what that makes me feel addicted to this experience of watching a movie alone in the midst of strangers, however paradoxical it sounds! There is an odd sense of belongingness one feels to oneself amidst people one wouldn't meet again in life; I know what you think -- that I'm crazy! May be... Strangers freak me out; being an introvert I have never felt comfortable dealing with people. I might pass off as a friendly person, but it is possible only with great efforts on my part. Yet, theatre is one place where I completely feel at peace with strangers. I like to have a person seated beside me, so close that you think it is discourteous to look into the eyes of the person, and spend the rest of the two and odd hours in silence. A lesson on the ephemerality of life and relationships (I'm fighting hard the impulse to sound like a yogi)! A young chap, a middle-aged woman, a thirty-ish fellow, an empty seat -- I've had all kinds of partners in my movie rendezvous. You feel some karmic connection with these people whom fate shall never bring into your life again. You laugh, you cry, you are at the edge of the seat! They laugh, they cry, they are at the edge of their seats! You wonder what separates an individual from the swarm of people around one? It gives way to more philosophical questions that you forget to sneak out of the movie hall to grab some popcorn to munch. You ask yourself if you walked into the hall intending to watch a movie, or raise such existential hullabaloo, that are so frequent in your late twenties. As you walk out of the hall, you know you haven't seen the visage of the person who spent two hours seated next to you; rather you chose not to. As you walk out of the hall, you see hundreds of people, yet you know that you strode into the hall with grace befitting the Queen of England and took your rightful place. You didn't bother to know who sat next to you, you cared not about what they thought of you, you asked not what they expect of you, for only you existed those 120 minutes of your life. You forgot the world around you, and for good. However egotistic, or narcissistic it sounds, it sure does make you feel significant. It makes your presence indispensable for just a while. It gives you an escapade from the jolting realities of life; to believe that your life is every bit perfect and is absolutely under your control. You wish you avail this newly found wisdom to help you on those days when you feel miserable and wretched and sulky.

And then, the movie is over, so is the escape to the wonderland. You go out to catch an auto, haggle with the autowala to feel absolutely normal and sane!

What is it to be an unmarried woman in her thirties in India!

I'm 31, and it's frightening. Hear me out before you think of me as some desperate damsel-in-distress. I haven't figured out...