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The point is, we endure. We endure and we go on another day. Yeah, a lot of us take years to get out of our own personal pits but we do. We stand again, do our best again, and we try to keep standing. We have days. We have bad ones. We have bad weeks. We have bad months. Yet, we open our eyes in the morning and get up again. Yes, it’s hard on some days and even harder on others but it’s not impossible. It never is… because we’ve done so before and we’ll do it again. Sometimes, we need to ask those near us for aid. They help us and get us up on our feet. They hope we’ll be there when they’re unable to do just that. We know we will. We have our own personal wars waging inside our heads and despite that, we do what we have to do. We help a stranger looking for directions. We go out of our way to help a friend. We make sure we laugh a bit amidst all the chaos. We endure and we go on another day, and that is the whole point. That is what it means to be human.

You know what my favourite colour is? It’s blue… but no ordinary blue. My favourite colour is the blue of the sky right before a downpour. I think that is the only instance where blue gets to be angry and I think that’s utterly beautiful. It’s often referred to as the calm before the storm but I don’t think it’s ‘calm’ at all. It’s the kind of chaos that pushes everything to move faster, quicker toward safety.

If you’ve ever noticed the sky I’m talking about, you know the uneasiness it drives into you. Somehow, you start seeking warmth even before the temperature drops. That is how scary an angry blue can be and that is why it’s the rarest of all blues.

You know why that is though? I’ll give you my two cents. It’s unexpected of the colour. It’s out of character for it. That’s what makes it scary. It is always scary when someone breaks the mould, especially when it’s the calmest one of them all.

When you brew coffee yourself and when you do it enough, you learn the little details about how coffee serves you. You learn to leave it an extra minute if you’re doing something intensive and need a kick. You learn to create a mellow cup if all you’re looking to do is get lost in art or words. You start noticing that even the fifteen seconds you let it sit by itself make a huge difference in how it affects what you’re doing.

It’s quite similar in life. You need certain qualities at peak for certain activities. You can’t always be on edge and yet, you can’t always be slackening. Sometimes, you’d need to be proactive and yet, sometimes you’d need patience. A little over to one side and your days can get heavy and yet sometimes, you need a heavy blend.

There’s a certain consciousness required in life as it is required in brewing a well-suited cup of coffee. That is where I think life and coffee coincide and I think that’s utterly beautiful.

There’s a bus. It can take you anywhere – anywhere you feel like, wherever you want to be, wherever you long for as long as you can name ‘anywhere’. They say, if you don’t know your destination, the bus can’t do shit about it and the conductor? He’s a dummy. There are no charts, and there are no schedules. There’s only one destination, the one you name as you board it.

You see everyone getting on-board, and before you can realise, you’re standing before the doors. There’s something about all those people going together, they might know something about it, right? You wonder. As you stand in front of the doors, you see they’re just naming places off the top of their heads or listening in on what the person before them said, and you see this beautiful chaos erupting at the doors of this bus.

You see the conductor smiling, almost as if he knows that no one on the bus wants to be where they are, and yet, they’re choosing places they don’t even know. You look around, and you see a thousand people like you. It’s almost like you’re looking at a thousand mirrors; their perplexed expressions are mirroring yours. “Damned if you get in, damned if you don’t, eh?” The person standing right beside you says in a tone imitating wisdom but you know he’s just stuck.

So, you turn around and sit on the bench at the bus stop. You look at your watch and whisper, “I’ve got time, I’ll figure it out”, and as you take your time, you meet people from both groups. You meet a thousand people who know and a thousand who don’t.

You now take the bus. However, you know a few different places now so you figure you can always come back to the bus stop. Time passes. The bus becomes your best friend. The conductor knows you’re a regular. Perhaps, the only one. He smiles. So does the driver. Something about the way they look at you says they know that you’ve figured it out.

One day, a sense of deja vu hits you as you look at the bus waiting for its passengers for the day. You see this person, petrified, confused, looking around cluelessly. You see him turn around. You see him walk toward you. “You seem like an expert, can you tell me where to go?” He mumbles.

You smile, “I finally do.”

I’ve grown to be pretty laid back about almost everything in the last couple of years. Some five years ago, I was pretty extreme when it came to opinions and arguments. I’ve come a long way since then and you’ll often find me aloof enough to not care. As long as it doesn’t affect me or my peace, I really don’t. I consider this change an important yardstick in how I measure my growth.

However, I realised that over time the not caring turned into a fear, of sorts. I’d often ignore my personal preferences, convictions or space just to avoid arguments or being called out on how I used to be. Simply put, I found myself trying too hard to be liked.

I’ve learned recently that while getting your pitchfork out at everything you hear or that happens isn’t the best way to go about it, there’s an equal risk in not speaking out if something truly bothers or affects you, your well-being or your peace. You have to tell people when you didn’t like something, be brutally honest if nothing else works, and say “No” when it’s required.

Other people are extremely important and being kind is something you should strive for in everything you do but your priority should always be going to sleep at night with a clear head. The key isn’t to not care; the key is to care about the right stuff.

It only hit me recently how I’ve embraced being in my element for the last four-five years and how content that has made me, in general. I think there’s a sweet spot between happiness and contentment. I think this is it.

Nothing good ever came out of an entertained human being. Boredom is, in my opinion, the only reason people do amazing things. There may be motivation and passion but it all boils down to a person being bored to death before anything else takes charge. When you are bored enough of sitting on your ass, you’ll automatically get up and do something. It may take you months or years to reach that point. It may take you a couple of hours or days. However, there is always that one moment of boredom where you look at the ceiling or the wall and your body kicks into motion on it’s own and your brain starts to get all sorts of crazy ideas. That is the moment which counts. If you’ve had it, you know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t, perhaps, you’re not bored enough yet. Try harder.

As boarding began, I sat and looked at people rushing to the queue. It really boggles my mind how obsessed most people are with lines, their positions on it and getting there first. As I saw most people leave, I finally got up. As I did, the man standing right in front asked me if this was the Jet Airways flight to New Delhi. I said, “Yes”. His next question was if they were usually on time and I assured him that they were, usually.

The small talk led to a conversation I can probably never forget. I learned that the man was visiting India from Canada. He was about thrice my age and yet, as young as myself at heart, if not younger.

In the little time that we spent together, we talked about many things. I told him about the camp I was on and how the experience was. I even showed him a photo of the lake I have been spamming on my Instagram feed for a while.

Then, I asked him whether he had the chance to try some Biryani. He said that he’d Googled before coming and so he tried and loved it. “It’s a beautiful dish,” he said, “if human beings decide to do good things, they end up creating beautiful things”. He smiled. It was an extraordinarily humble and earnest smile.

We talked about large cities and their problems and the world. He believed that all places have flaws and that the important thing is that we keep working to solve them.

We agreed to meet after the flight and somehow, I forgot to exchange contact information. I was hopeful though as I wished him a safe trip and went toward the rear end of the aircraft to sit in my row.

I couldn’t meet him post-landing, and so, the only thing I have is that wonderful conversation and the memory of a very hopeful man at the further end of his life.

There was one thing that he commented upon after I told him about my camp and the things that I had seen. “The first step is realising something,” he said as he took a pause and gauged for the look on my face as he smiled, “the solutions then follow”. It was a chance encounter and probably one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

Hope is infectious, it seems.

I’m not a photographer. Not by a long shot. However, I take a lot of photos. Mostly, of the most random objects possible. As I’ve told a lot of people before, I’m a forgetful person so I click mundane stuff because the most ordinary stuff makes me remember what I felt in that moment.

As we departed from Nallavagu yesterday–six people and twelve luggage bags overloading an auto-rickshaw–I saw the lake shimmer in what seemed to be a farewell. The lake spans across throughout the village and you can see it for a kilometer or two as you leave.

Funnily enough, there have been only two moments in the recent years when I didn’t take my phone out in a jiffy to take a photo of something. Yesterday, was the third.

The lake was there. The phone was reachable. Yet, I didn’t take a photo of it. It could’ve been the last picture of something I’d want to return to for a lot of years to come but somehow, I didn’t feel like it.

It is moments like these that really make me wonder what I value more – capturing every event, moment or fleeting thought with words and random pictures or the rare occurrences where I let them sink into memory.

I am a simple man who likes simple things. I am not in it for the convoluted and the complex. Talk to me, give me respect, don’t ruin my normalcy, and I’ll do the same for you. We can have a good time in the little time we have together. It’s only life. If you make a moment of trouble for me. Well, I could try and do the same to you but I’ll prefer to exit gracefully. I am a simple man who likes simple things. I’m not in it for the convoluted and the complex. I don’t have that kind of time. I never did.

I’m overwhelmed by what life has to offer. It’s a fuzzy feeling to know that you can do anything, anything at all, as long as you’re ready to give your all to it. There exists an equally large handicap in freedom as it does in the lack of it. When someone asks me about the future, I don’t have an answer. It’s not for the lack of ideas but because of the sheer quantity of them. That’s how the mindset has been lately. I look up and I see so much to do that one life seems like an awfully short time. That is where, I have reason to believe, sacrifice enters. You cannot do everything you want to do and somewhere in there is the wisdom of choosing what you really want. Question is, how do you go about deciding that?

I embrace clichés like a kid eats candy – with great excitement, zeal, and unquenchable hunger.

I have realised that there are only three things you need to do to make every day count–do something that gets your body moving, do something that gets your mind working, and do something that gets your heart beating. You only need to do three things per day to have a good one. Once you have these three down for the day, you can do anything else if you have the time. The key is getting those three down. Everything else is just extra credit.

Some phases–minutes, hours, days, weeks, months or even years–will be perfect. Everything about them will be as perfect as the plot of your favourite book. It’ll feel as if they were written by the most optimistic writer in the world. Experience these phases. Remember them. Don’t let go. Don’t forget. They come in handy when the rough draft gets sent to the editor.

Whatever you do in life, don’t forget to find a place. Find a place that reminds you everything is okay or that it will be, eventually. Find a place that reorients you morally; a place that is a reflection of how you want to see yourself. Seek a place that is yours but a place you can never own. Perhaps, find a tree or a lake or a hill or even the sea. A place that is yours and yours only and yet, a place that is for everyone to see. Find a place that is your corner of comfort hidden in plain sight. Only then, will the toughest days seem easier and the easier days seem better because life is unpredictable. In that unpredictability, don’t forget to find your constant.

Sometimes, not regularly but often enough, I found myself walking under the moonlight without a set destination in mind at the oddest hours possible because I was afraid of the four walls waiting for me in the place I called home. All the while my beverage served as the perfect metaphor for the night sky, the gravitas of my situation, and the stark fear of crossing the fine line between being alone and being lonely, even if in error.

It was then, that I’d immediately call someone and hear a familiar voice or talk to a stranger instantly redeeming myself. The truth was that as much as I preferred and needed to stay alone, I never, for once, wanted to feel lonely. I have reason to believe it was the same for a lot of us; those too proud of ourselves yet susceptible to crumble under the weight of our own heads, if left unwatched for too long.

I am glad, then, for all the times I wasn’t as proud as some would believe me to be and when I had humility to accept that even black coffee, like happiness and sorrow, tasted best when shared with another human being.

Stop. Stop trying to make sense of things that are obviously bigger than yourself. Stop looking at people through tainted glasses of envy. Stop sabotaging the things you have over those few things you don’t. Stop finding answers to questions you don’t know how to ask. Stop fitting your life in a timeline you can’t mark. Stop looking at icons and idols with starry eyes. Stop becoming an imitation of them. Stop walking endlessly to take a look around. Stop to look at the bird that does a flip as it glides through the sky. Stop whatever you’re doing and savour the moment. Stop taking photos of everything you see and just look. Stop feeling so overwhelmed that you cease to exist. Stop feeling so overburdened to start being free. Stop and take a breath every once in a while. Stop. Stop reading this and go fix what you thought you couldn’t. Stop telling yourself you can’t; you can.

I have always been obsessed with the why of things. Ever since I was a child, I’d think things through, exploring all sides and angles something could have. I loved peeling the layers of life, people and everything that happened.

Over time, the process of peeling those layers became synonymous with who I am and how I think. Everything I saw was bound to have more than what met the eye.

It became muscle memory to look at something happen, experience something, and start diving deeper into it.

Just as an artist would seek balance in all things, I seeked depth. Over time, it became a requirement. There was an odd sort of high in figuring out the whole picture, connecting dots and finding the why.

Like an addict, all I had to do was take one hard look into the mirror to accept that my need for the why did more harm than good.

I learned that life happens and more often than not, there’s no why; it just is the way it is and things are just the way they are.

It is in that lesson that I found my calm.

I often wonder which is more troubling, the feeling that something is amiss or the agony of never knowing what feels so awry?

Taking offence, unlike what you might think, is also an art. You see, it is quite similar to silence. A person who is silent always, never uttering even an ounce of their opinion is as good, if not worse, as a person whose opinion lacks quality. Similarly, taking offence on everything trivialises the idea of something really being offensive or hurtful.

Our generation has already ruined most of what being offended by something really entails; we’re a generation of people who live in their echo chambers thanks to social media and cookie-centric, activity-tracking internet applications.

We spend way too much time listening to our own selves or people who toot the same horns that we do and as soon as someone brings a new sound, however harsh or soft, we get offended.

This feeling of unease which we so beautifully dub into a demand for apology as we take our pitchforks out of our backpacks usually comes not from a place where we’re hurt by others’ thoughts but from our inefficiency to accept that no one in this world owes us opinion that we can easily digest.

This inefficiency comes from the absence of contrarian opinions in our everyday lives.

So, before you ask for an apology or get offended on whatever it may, make sure you’re not just being a pompous prick who is just used to looking into the mirror for way too long.

Always remember, if everything is offensive, nothing is. So take offence but do it carefully and selectively.