In this moment, as I write my dissertation, I am attempting to speak about personal meandering spatial imaginations. But as I explore new spaces, I am losing sight of home.
But I want to tell home, that oh dear home
I am only going for a stroll,
would like to be away for a short while
to freshen up my mind and be with myself.
With my thoughts cluttered, I am unable to say this
all I have is an uncertain whisper.
when I am back, I would like to fly upwards
and blossom with home.
in any way at all
in any way it will be.
Spring nights, the nip of winter is still in the air and a song keeps me company under the nearly full moon
A day full of insights. One of the most important insights from today was that I realized the purpose of my life.
1.The purpose of my life is to gather new experiences.
2.New experiences. An infant seeing people play Holi for the first time must totally be tripping adults looking ridiculous behaving absurd.
3. Played Holi in the morning in JNU. I love JNU for the place it is. Bhaang served in the hostel mess during breakfast, the entire campus tripping and it being absolutely acceptable to run around tearing one’s own shirt and throwing it up on a tree.
4. This has been my favourite best day in Delhi so far.
5. When a visually challenged student walks through Jhelum lawns while Holi is being celebrated in JNU, what does he/she perceive and sense? But Kazi says that colour also has frequencies and sounds. He hummed me a quick ‘aahhh’ which was supposed to be the sound for a green colour and indeed, his tone resonated of green. They can sense auras and waves of colour.
6. Holi is a great festival, especially to celebrate with one’s family and close friends. I like the Lall family where I was at all day today. They have a wonderful way of being on Holi, together, each inviting their own friends, and sharing their own friends with each other. accepting each other.
I am really good at keeping secrets. Sometimes, I keep secrets from myself, never accepting some or acknowledging some fleeting truths, and conveniently forgetting secrets about myself that I have chanced upon.
T-chen is a secret I have kept for about 2 and a half years now. However, he occupies a few recesses and perhaps even the hypothalamus of my brain. We have been together since sometime in August 2012 . He is a nice guy. a kind sensitive soul. a curious bear. with a loud uninhibited laughter. infectious happiness. He says that the guiding force of his life is love. and this makes him a very special person. He has supported me through several bad phases. even now, prodding me to shine, while still allowing me to enjoy a lull. T-chen shares my sorrows, holds me when I am sad, listens to me earnestly when I have no words, and lets me enjoy his undivided attention when it is not occupied by books. He tries constantly and succeeds well in understanding what it is like to be female on this planet at this time. He is politically environmentally socially conscious. And the universe is a better place because he is here.
His eyes are dark blue with a tinge of grey, which twinkle and become smaller when he smiles. His hair is dark brown but gets lighter in summer. He has this habit of brushing back his hair with his hand that keeps falling to his forehead like he is one of the Beatles. He does not like this at all. He is very tall and I have to go on my toes to kiss him when we are both standing up. He smells and feels like home.
I love my T-chen.
Who is T-chen? I keep finding out each day, even now, when he has gone away for a while. I realize what his presence did to me when he is absent, and this way, I note something about him that I hadn’t before. I also learn things about myself, in this life with him. I would like to continue finding out who T-chen is.
Yesterday, he used the word love to define what is between us.
He said that I am going to get knotted up , I won’t like it. I will break it one day and burn everything around me, and fly away.
I wonder at this. Huddled close on that winter night, I wondered at it from afar. It is always far. I am. far.
Is that why I always shy away from the knots? or often compelled by the fieriness of them do I knit them myself, like a puppeteer nimbly tracing wisps of air, pulling to secure a knot. and then light a match to see everything explode, myself burn slowly, only to be found already present somewhere else. Fully covered in wax.
I would like to allow it be peeled away. Not by him, not him at all. Although he believes he has it.
Flowers found/left in between the pages of books
They had fallen in between the sheets from one’s hair. Before that they were on found under the trees that give less shade.
Highways. The sounds heard on them. As one is riding, a huge truck passes by, a high pitched sound far away. Eyes open to glimpse a dim light on the horizon, it warms a villager. the light then, of the loud bus stop, is shocking.
Bluerider, riding in cold winters, in warm summers, always.
Keep riding, my friend.
Oh beloved, stay a while!
On summer afternoons in Delhi, a dry gust of hot wind and Farida Khanum’s voice like fresh air and bliss and life.
There was a sad defeated moment. But a song my mind hummed. This one.
A happy friend, buzzing on Old Monk, jumping around the room, playing a djembe and singing aloud this song. Joy is back. and he bought along hope.