Catharsis

four am

It’s been raining these days. I should say pouring if I’m being accurate. The raindrops thump against the tin roof. It sounds like the steady beat of war drums that slowly get louder as the rain falls harder. If it wasn’t for the fact that the noise keeps me up all night, I’d actually enjoy it. I regret covering up my room’s balcony to make it weather-proof. I roll out of bed to shut the door to the balcony but find myself staring out of the window.

It’s four am and I’m wide awake.

The rain has stopped and it’s silent. Almost. The lilting music from the room drifts outside. I am at peace. I am standing at the cusp of today. It isn’t today though. It definitely isn’t yesterday. I’m in the moment between two days, when it seems like time has frozen.

My thoughts are frozen as well. I think about nothing. A situation like this usually merits an internal monologue that seems more like a barrage of questions. “What am I doing? Is there a point to anything? Did my sister finish the ice-cream again?” Today there is silence. It is comfortable like the blanket wrapped around me and as soft as the moonlight streaming through the window.

The rain starts again. It gently knocks on the windows. In a whispered tone, it sings me a lullaby. I close my eyes and listen to the words. They’re gibberish because the rain can’t speak. I prop myself against the wall and wrap the blanket tighter. I’m still freezing and time is still frozen. I suddenly realise the rain isn’t speaking, it’s singing. The words don’t matter. They never did. So, I let the rain carry me to sleep.

It’s four am and I’m asleep in a balcony.

July 20, 2021 0

Desiderium

You feel something well up inside you. Is it loss? The loss of good times and of the days spent with reckless abandon. Is this what it is to leave something behind and find something new. To love, to lose, to miss. To seek nostalgia that leaves a tiny drop in your eye.

But can you feel the magic in the air as you think of yesterday. Because yesterday is magic. It is beautiful because of what it is, tragic because it is no more, and everlasting because it’s always going to remain etched in your memories.

You’ll forget the bad, maybe not forget, but the edges will soften. More often than not you’ll think of the happy times. Because they were there, and in plenty.

You think back and all you see is a shadow of familiar faces, laughing, gathered around you. You feel the warmth in the room. You feel the love.

The sound of barking dogs pulls you back to the present.

It’s 3 am, your friends are in another city.

June 29, 2021 0

My dad is quick to pick up on things. He asked if I was happy and comfortable. I said I was comfortable. He asked if I was happy. Need I say more about perceptive dads.

He has the worst jokes ever and he is so passive-aggressive it drives me nuts. He sent me the price of tickets home AND the location of the airport while trying to convince me to go back home for a week. It’s kind of funny I guess. But what’s most important is that he always makes me smile. And cry, because he’s one of the only people I can be vulnerable in front of.

We have an interesting relationship, poles apart but so similar. Think of every father-daughter trope in the world and throw it away. Tropes don’t do justice to love. They say love begets love. Wrong! Love also begets annoyance, frustration, truces. Apologies whispered over a plate of your favorite food. It’s a great dynamic. Especially when you have two stubborn people with very different views of the world. One is a very grumpy 50 year old man with a moustache, the other is his charming 20 year old daughter with a moustache.

If I could, I would tell him how much I love him. But then he’d just gloat. Instead, I’ll just write a long article for the man who travelled a thousand miles to visit me for just a day.

My favorite memories are at the airport. The hellos were trips down memory lane. Enveloped in cologne synonymous with childhood, I was a child again. I’d finally feel safe in a sea of strangers. Goodbyes were bittersweet hugs wrapped in feels. Tear soaked shirts for him and a really really red nose for me. Saying all the things we never really verbalised –

“I love you Ips”
“I miss you Baba”
“Don’t let your grades drop”
“…”
“Come home, I’ll make you your favorite food”
“I can’t wait to be home”
“I’m proud of you”

What I’m saying is that inside jokes like “sorry prawns” and “don varshaat lagna kar” will never get old. What I’m saying is that his salt and pepper hair is more salt than pepper now. What I’m saying is that I love him and he’s one of my best friends.

Belated Happy Father’s Day bro ❤

Saccharin Skies

Saccharin skies. Salty skies. Spicy skies.

Do you think the sky has flavours? Because a sky so big can’t be just colours. I think the sky has colours and flavours.

On sunny days the sky is acidic like cold lemonade. The sour lemon and cold ice hits just right. Sun rays gently singe your skin – the perfect lemony day. Unless your skin is melting right off. Those are the days of chillies. The days when everything is unbearable. Your skin feels like it’s on fire and you feel like you’re in an oven. The sun isn’t shining, it’s glaring. It’s not the brutish sun’s fault either. It tries its hardest to gently caress your skin but fails. You can’t blame fires for burning.

Rainy skies are like the spices in your Maa’s kitchen. Comforting, reassuring and always ready to envelope you in a warm hug. The sky opens up to you and the earth smells divine. Everything is washed clean. It’s a fresh slate for everyone. The leaves look a little greener and there is a spring in everyone’s step. Even as they complain about the puddles and the traffic. The thing is you can complain about home all you want but it’s the only place you know like the back of your hand. And so of course, you can grumble about the rain, but you can’t dislike the rain, you can’t dislike home.

Cloudy skies are gloomy, they taste like porridge or pea soup, just ehh. Some of them might be charming but most of them are just ehh. To give credit where credit is due, some of them might be charming. But most of them are mediocre. They promise rains and thunder and bring nothing. There’s no way you can wax eloquent on them. Like I said – pea soup.

Then there is the sky when the sun gives way to the moon – a saccharin sky. The halcyon colours mesh together and the entire sky looks like it was painted for you. The pink merges into the purple and the purple blurs into indigo. There is also a hint of red in the sky. Clouds pepper the sky as they wait for the stars to come out. You could say such skies are sweet like honey right from the honeycomb – colours oozing out. Skies so sweet you could take a lick and nothing would ever taste the same. Skies so sweet you can only call them saccharin skies.