journal.coffee

As exciting as eventfulness is, and as much of a learning experience the last few years have been, I found myself emotionally exhausted, and always en garde. If you’ve ever walked in a bustling city, you know how you’re always looking over your shoulder. That is how the last few years felt. Even today, I read older journal entries and can’t help but wonder how much was happening all the time. Maybe, it was all in my head. It is unimportant where the storm brewed. The important thing is that there was a storm, or at least, the uneasiness it brings. Perhaps, I’m too hopeful and this is exactly what the calm before the storm means but I like the calm. I like flowing freely through the day without a care about what will happen next. There are small ups and downs that keep coming but no existential war is waged and no larger chaos is handled. Even if this is a phase, I like it. I like knowing I’ll not be sitting on the floor on a random evening because everything seems too heavy and overwhelming. It’s just a mellow sort of feeling; you know, the way streamers flow wherever the breeze makes them go? That’s how I feel right now—not in control, not wanting to be in control—just flowing, calmly.

You’ll do good, kid. You’ll grow up just fine. I know going up to people and saying a simple Hi seems like the end of the world but you’ll make friends. You’ll make friends who stick by your side for years. I know you act all high and mighty as if you’re somehow better than them but you secretly wish they invited you just once. They will. You’ll go out and have fun and travel and go places and do things. You’ll do everything. Don’t be overwhelmed. Just keep doing what you’re doing. The idea is to be blatantly yourself. You’ll learn. You’ll be better. Then, better is all you’ll seek. Even if you don’t change at all, the bottom line is, you’ll do good. Everything that feels like the end of the world will eventually be a little stumble out of your comfort zone. Maybe you’ll fall, but you’ll get up. The world won’t end. One day, in what will feel like a hundred years from now, I hope you sit and look back on how difficult you thought it all was, and I hope at that moment you tell yourself what you should’ve said all those years ago, “You’ll do good, kid. You’ll grow up just fine.”

…and sometimes you never find closure. You can ask for it, demand for it or even beg for it. You can throw the largest tantrum in the history of tantrums only wishing to come full circle but it won’t be that way. Do you know what you will find though? You’ll find friends and a table filled with beer. You’ll find yourself meeting people you thought you’ll never meet from places you may never see. You’ll start to spend nights under the stars more often than you ever thought you would. You’ll find a good place to go to every day. You’ll find a life you never thought you could create, and you’ll find yourself lifting yourself up to maintain it now that it’s there. You’ll find a lot of things if only you take a good look at them. If you do that, you’ll have an epiphany. Sometimes you don’t need closure; sometimes, you need a great breakfast to start a better day among a series of extraordinary ones, and that is enough. One day, finally, as you listen to a song on your morning commute, you’ll realise—closure wasn’t something you asked for; closure was something you gave yourself.

Hello, friend. I’m a work-in-progress. I’m a canvas with some strokes on it. I’m the dollop of paint that happened to fall on a corner.

Hello, friend. I’m the odd note that makes the piece go wrong. I’m the sheet of music, marked all over like it was done by an amateur.

Hello, friend. I’m the bad prose and the hollow plot. I’m the bland characters and that extra adjective.

Hello, friend. I’m a lot of things, and I was a lot of things. Before a dollop of paint, I was a blank canvas. Before the odd notes, I was a blank sheet of paper. Before the bad prose, I was an idea.

Hello, friend. One fine day, I’ll be a terrific painting, I’ll be a breathtaking symphony, and I’ll be an epic manuscript. Until then, bear with me as I rid myself of my imperfections.

Hello, friend. I appreciate you sticking around. Thank you.

Recently, before I sat to write, I decided to make some coffee in the usual routine. I noticed a crack had appeared on my coffee-stained mug, stretching through the base, and almost touching the side. I didn’t remember dropping the mug. I’ve always been most careful with it. It is the mug I use while writing, and it has been so for years. It broke my heart for a second. I checked it for a second, rather carefully. To my surprise, the crack didn’t break it. The crack didn’t matter, as long as the mug did what it was meant to do. It may break eventually, I thought, perhaps, devastatingly so but today wasn’t that day. So, I poured some coffee into it, and I began to write.

I thought the trick with time was to never have too much of it on my hands. The idler my moments, I believed, the idler my thoughts. It was in jumping from one task to another, and from one place to another, where I found peace, momentarily so, until I lost it again. That was when I learnt that it was neither in the abundance of time nor in the absence of it. I learnt, it was in the transition. It was in the movement. It was in that little moment between still here and almost there. That moment right there was my moment of peace. That was where I wanted to stay, always.

I often catch myself looking out of windows but not at anything in particular. You know, that moment when someone is just looking outside; staring. They’re not looking at something, just outside. You know, that moment at the end of the day, with a cup of coffee or a glass of wine or a pint of beer in their hand, and they’re just looking outside from the porch or the window or the terrace. That little moment when they tell themselves, “Life’s good”. I often catch myself having one of those. I hope you do too.

I’ve learned that it’s my inherent nature to become dissatisfied with whatever goes on around and in my life eventually. So, I’ve learned how to embrace the phase where I am still in love with whatever goes on around in my life and create some record of how I felt so that I don’t forget when my nature kicks in. It’s been a week since I changed cities. It’s been a greatly challenging but epic week. I love this new phase, and I believe it is of utmost importance to share happiness. I’m happy. I may not be so tomorrow. I guess it’s with everyone. We often forget how we felt about something or how we felt on one particular day because of the phase, and in the end, we end up forgetting everything we really, truly cherished. It is my resolution, not a new years’ resolution but a personal quest to not just focus on but remember the good. It is important to remember it. You know what? We have it backwards. You focus too much on the good, you lose yourself when the good starts to disappear. You have to remember the good. It helps when it gets bad.

You’ll build homes where people were never meant to live. You’ll build homes in other people, on a particular table of a cosy café, on benches in parks no one visits anymore, and on streets you remember so well you could walk with your eyes closed. However, like all homes in the history of homes, you’ll leave them behind, and you’ll go further. Sometimes, the home will outlive you, and sometimes, you’ll outlive the home. It doesn’t matter which way it goes. If you come back and find the home isn’t there, a part of it will always stay in you, and if the home stands the test of time, anyone else who calls it one would find a part of you in it. Even if you return and the home still exists, somehow, it won’t feel the same. It won’t matter which one of you changed because home isn’t a place, a feeling, or a person; home is a moment in time.

There was a little boy. The little boy was digging. The shovel in his hand seemed a little too big for him, and the weather was cold, and there was a little sore right where the little boy’s little hand met the handle. The boy was digging.

A man passed him by, a slightly older man. This man believed the boy’s digging was hard work. He started clapping as he saw the boy dig further.

A couple of students were returning from their classes. They saw the old man clapping so they rushed to see what it was all about. They peeked and saw that there was a boy digging below, and so they started cheering for him.

The boy heard them and stopped for a second but then, he continued toiling. He dug further, and deeper. It wasn’t long before there was a crowd but the boy was so deep down below that he could only hear a faint echo of applause. That, and his constant striking of the Earth. He kept going deeper.

Until the boy got tired. He was exhausted. He dropped the shovel, and he sat on the soil below him. The ditch was dark, and it was only now he started to realise how the time had passed.

The boy looked up. “”Hey!”” He shouted. No one could hear him, and he still couldn’t remember why he was digging. He started climbing up. As he climbed, the crowd started to feel an err. The constant clinking of the shovel had stopped.

The little boy kept climbing out, and for a while, his world-view became that of the vertical tunnel. He could only see the circular top, and through it, he saw the urge to get out. After a long climb, he came out.

He huffed and puffed and looked around. Those who waited gave the boy some food, and water, and wrapped him in a blanket. A while later, they asked him why he was digging. “”I do not remember. I think I started on a whim, but that was years ago. Now, I am tired, and I want to sleep,”” the boy said.

The little boy went to his house, and climbed into his bed, and slept throughout the month. As he slept, the only thing he saw in his dreams was him in the ditch, digging.

One day, when he felt rested enough, he woke up. Then, on a whim, he picked the shovel up. He walked out of the door, and without a word to anyone, he started digging.

You know what? Sometimes life throws a curveball and there’s no other purpose besides one thing—to make you feel the worst gut-wrenching in the entire history of gut-wrenching. You’d be sitting at an arm’s length with someone you know like the back of your hand, and you’d not say a single word. You’ll sit there, both of you, pretending to be strangers. At that moment, nothing comes to mind—no self-help article, no psychobabble bullshit, no epic mantra for positivity, and surely not a verse of poetry. There comes only one thing, in that one hour, and that is one large cup of disappointment. Call it fate, if that helps you sleep at night but remember this, you’re only kidding yourself because this is your life—a banal ballad of baseless probabilities and numbers you can’t see. There’s no grand meaning; there’s just that day when life decides to throw a curveball, and nothing else matters.

So you know why you feel what you feel. So you understand why people do what they do. You’ve spent years, inside your own head, truly trying to develop a sense for it. You know now; you understand now.

But sometimes, you want to just let out a sigh or tear of cluelessness but you know yourself too well now. You may be clueless about everything but not about what goes on inside you.

And sometimes, you want to just let out a fit of anger because someone did something and something happened but you understand all of them well enough to let it slide. You may not understand everything yet but you understand people.

The problem is, you still feel what you feel and people still do what they do, and there’s not a damn you can do about it. So, you let out a sigh, and you keep walking. I’m sorry no one ever told you, buster, empathy is a double-edged sword.

I wish you a love like a chilly winter night where warm conversation in a warm blanket won’t let you let out as much as a sneeze. A love, like the first ray of sun on the otherwise misty and hazy hill which leaves its lifelessness in a second as it sees the yellow warmth over it. A love like the puppy who walks in that sunlight, feeling a plethora of feelings all of a sudden. I wish you a love like the one that makes him jump with joy as the morning sets in.

I wish you a love like the stormy sea. A love so passionate that it is ready to destroy even the hardest of rocks in its way. A love that feels so cold and often, so salty but is not afraid to splash around and make its mark on everything it touches. I wish you a love which doesn’t get calmer with the rain and only becomes more enticed to grow and consume everything within it. A love so fierce and free nothing compares to it.

I wish you a love like the little town where nothing ever happens. A love that is deceitful and cunning as the narrow alleys you enter to steal a moment of embrace. A love that makes you run away from the prying eyes of your friends who are all over town. I wish you a love like the warm cup of coffee in a fancy café and a love like sizzling street food. I wish you a love like the very life you have, eventful and spontaneous.

I wish you a love like the dry desert. A love where even when you’re alone and left behind, the feeling stays with you. A love like the last drop of water on a shrub which is never consumed rather protected. I wish you a love so fiery it turns everything bland and colourless, and which brings cracks to your life as it slowly leaves like that last drop on the shrub which despite all protection and shade, evaporates away under the blazing sun.

When all of it is said and done, I wish you a love that makes you get out of your bed and look at yourself in the mirror. A love so personal and strong it rushes straight into your heart as you stare at your reflection. A love for yourself so infinite, all those phoney infinities are put to shame.

I adore winters. Although, I’m always sick and unwell for most of them. I love the chill in the air, interrupted by gradual sips of tea, coffee, booze, and warm conversation. I love how ruthless the cold can get at times as you’re out and about, sitting with your friends, feeling the cold slowly spread around your entire body. Winters in the hills is another experience altogether. The misty roads in the morning and evenings. The slight hazy filter over the entire city. The feeling when you wake up in the morning and want to snuggle in the blanket for a while longer. The feeling when you finally hit the bed at night, and snuggle into the blanket yet again. All of that, and an over-abundance of extra warmth all around you. Everything slows down, and then just stays like that for a lot of months. That’s what I used to think earlier. It has come to my realisation lately that calm and cozy winters won’t make as much sense if the summers weren’t passionate and crazy. As I took yet another walk around town, embracing what is allegedly my favourite time of the year, I realised that you need to be spiraling for slowing down to make sense. With that epiphany, I appreciated summer which is something I had never done before, and maybe, just maybe, I missed the hyperactive energy and eventfulness that had disappeared as the chill began to set in around me.

I don’t have a grand goal. I really don’t. I used to think to have more money than I can spend was a good goal. Then, I wanted to save the world. Then, it was something else. The cycle kept going on. Now, I just want to fine tune my life, and figure out the music of it. I want to see how best can it sound when everything comes together. All elements – the people, the things, the habits, the lessons – coming together to play one perfect song; all elements coming together to play my song. There’s no grand goal. There is only a vision plus a little hope that somewhere along the line, as the wheels keep turning and as the clock keeps ticking, I keep finding the right notes and I keep changing the odd ones. Until one day, someone listens to that final piece, and no matter how it sounds, their heart skips a beat.

Timmy was a little boy. Everyone thought they knew Timmy. Timmy went away for a while. Timmy did it for the first time. Timmy wanted to tell everyone he did it but they were too busy doing other things. Timmy did it again. Then, Timmy did it every day. Everyone met Timmy when he was back. Timmy did it as they watched. “You’ve changed, Timmy,” everyone sighed.

Timmy’s story sounds familiar because it happens every day. Humans, we’re always influencing those immediately around us, and I don’t mean this in a bad sense. However, the problem arises when you and the Timmy in the story start doing different things and no longer have an influence over each other.

It is at this point that you start to grow differently, for better or for worse, and it isn’t until your paths cross again that you learn how large the gap has become. Whether you take it like everyone and declare it as Timmy’s fault or not is up to you though, and I hope you understand enough to choose the latter.

You know what? Some things never get old. A random kid walking down the street to catch a balloon. The moment you realise you’re back home after a long while. A friend sitting across the table with some coffee and food between you. Irrespective of how your life is going, a little puppy will be as cute as it was when you first saw it. No matter how you’re feeling today, a baby’s laughter will sure make you smile for a second. Maybe, it gets aggravating after but when it starts, you smile. You know what? There’s a part of being human that forces us to enjoy the little things. You can be a cynic and refuse to laugh all you want for you’ve seen the worst of life. You can miss out on the little things if you’re willing to do so but you know it too. You know that those little things never get old because those little things aren’t little at all. They’re the biggest part of what makes you human. You know that, right? I know you do.

Yesterday was a really good day. As much as I dislike societal norms, I think we ought to give a day or two to ourselves. Birthdays are just an excuse, like New Years’ or any other day that happens every year, for us to put our progress into perspective. I don’t think they serve any other purpose besides that.

There has been a lot of learning, unlearning and relearning in the last one year. The time between I turned twenty-one and twenty-two has been a rollercoaster, personally. I’ve talked to so many people and all of them agree that it’s the age. It’s extremely eventful and things change really fast.

A new friend I made while travelling told me that I’ll be twenty-nine in a blink, and I won’t even realise how time passed. I think I have a feel of what she meant when she said that. That said, irrespective of how much time had passed, some conflicts in my life have stayed the same… or at least, they had until yesterday.

I have come to realise that life goes on not because of certain people or events but despite them. In that sense, all we can do is try and stop controlling situations and take charge of that one thing that we can control–ourselves.

Despite how much chaos brewed in the little things, and despite the few major losses that happened between the twenty-fourth of October last year and yesterday, I’ve also realised that I have a blessed life in most respects, especially when it comes to the people I have in my life–all of them. I am extremely grateful for that and more.

That gratefulness is why I want to move forward setting even better examples for myself and improving continually as a person. To be honest, I’ve really done a lot that I had wanted to do this year but I don’t think I’m done yet.

I don’t think I’ll be done ever. I hope I can keep looking at myself every year and always see myself progressing in what feels like the right direction. Lastly, if I ever look back and notice a misstep, I hope I can correct my course quickly.

It was an eventful year. Thank you for sending in your wishes yesterday, and I’m extremely sorry if I missed your call. Here’s to being twenty-two-years-old!

I’ll leave Rajasthan today. I can take the route everyone takes after an eventful journey and say that it changed me but, it didn’t. Nothing happened in the last month which changed me as a person. This trip, if it did anything in the grand scheme of things, only made me clearly see the things I already knew about myself. It didn’t change me; it showed me who I was, and it did so extremely well. I’ve met so many people and collected so many stories. I think doing this was worth it just for those two things. In the end, there’s no larger clarity and there’s no profound wisdom. I guess, there’s only another notch of understanding myself. I guess that’s fine. I can’t wait to go back home again. I just have one detour and one last stop to make first.

We went to bed at eleven; our bodies were tired and our bellies were full. We lay in bed and looked at the sky without a shelter above us. The moon shone brightly and the sky had some stars. It wasn’t as breathtaking as we had heard, and in a way, it felt boring so I dozed off. A dog, from the pack of six or seven which kept wandering around us in the desert, started barking all of a sudden at three in the morning. I guess all of us had dozed off and the barking woke all of us up. There wasn’t any talk that happened, and it was only in the morning that we learned all of us were awake. No one said a word as everybody looked at the sky. The moon had disappeared. The sky was full of stars, and there was nothing else. There were just stars spread evenly on a wide dark sheet that covered everything. As I lay there, for I can only speak for myself, I looked at the sky and kept gazing at a star, moving to the next a while later, until my attention was stolen by a shooting star, and then another. I stopped counting shooting stars at twelve. I guess there was no point counting my wishes or blessings. I’m not a believer but for a few hours, I believed in it alright. I don’t remember when I dozed off, remembering things and counting shooting stars, thinking I’ll never see something as beautiful as that night sky. Then, I woke up, almost instantly, to a sunrise, and just in a few hours the universe had proved me wrong yet again.