20.

Yes, I know. I'm back after 5 months. Following in the footsteps of most of the 20-something-ers of this generation, I've realised that I too am inconsistent. Another bullet point in the long list of vices. I've been meaning to write here, since that fateful morning. Oh! no no! I didn't win the lottery or anything. I woke up, and realised I am 20. What's the big deal, you may ask. I don't remember being older than 15, I would say. I'm here not to complain about how old I am, by means of the colour of my hair, but about how old I am, in the sense of how confused this sudden revelation has made me.

I don't know. Three words that seem to be my constant reply to all sorts of questions. On one hand, I still live with the knowledge, and faith, that I've trusted and loved ones to ask, no matter what the question is. But on the other hand, I've been newly introduced to the concept, that unless I place the final seal, the post will lie around uselessly, like one of those red taped files in the Indian government offices. I have now become a complete cent percent responsible for my choices. Even when you can feel the hand, of the influential people in your lives, on yours, you know, that in that one tiny moment, you are alone. In that one tiny moment, when I would have more than happily hidden under my blanket, while my parents made the choice, I'm alone. And I need to choose. I need to decide. I need to. I don't want to.

As a child who grew up around large groups of older kids, I always envied them for the different levels of independence they enjoyed. I ardently wished that I would suddenly grow up, so that my mother could no longer ask me to put down my R.K.Narayan that I hid within my textbooks, and do math instead. And now, when I've reached the point where I get to choose my career path, I want to go back to being a kid. I wish I hadn't grown up so fast. I wish I didn't have to leave the cozy comfort of home so fast.

People always talk about how you grow wiser as you grow older. You grow wiser as a result of experiences, interactions, and accumulation of knowledge both practical and theoretical. But have we ever stopped to think if this was necessarily a good phenomenon? Where is that joy that used to overwhelm me at the sight of a new pencilpouch, a new waterbottle, new textbooks,  2 pieces of broken magnets, a sticky note, marbles, balls that have cartoon figures on them, cartoons in itself, a trip to the movie theatre, the excitement of receiving a kid's packet while on the plane? Where did it go? When did a colouring book stop making me jump around with glee? Is that a result of me having become wiser? Then I don't like it. How do we become 'wiser' if we stop realising the joy of small things in life?

Questions. I have more questions. And then some more. I think I'll get used to being 20 by the time I'm thirty. Or maybe, just maybe, I don't want to get used to it. Maybe, I don't want to be performing rituals that are dictated by my biological age. I wonder. Will we ever reach the stage where we are allowed to be as old as we feel? I doubt it. The world would be a more fun place to live in, then, though. 

just a drop of ...?

I look outside through the window. The trees look unnaturally beautiful, the flowers look unusually bright, there is a sudden burst of life in it all. And yet, it seems like I'm dreaming. All because I see it through a mist, a dreamy layer  that sends a shiver of pure joy through me. The beauty continues to surprise and mesmerize me.

People walk in wet and happy and laughing. There is a current of joy that envelopes all. There is a smile on every  face.

The trees form a canopy over our heads. The magic envelopes us in it's moist folds. And as I amble through with loved ones, I feel like the princess I've always dreamt of being.

The roads are all flooded, the roofs are all leaking, and yet, it's considered a blessing from the heavens.

The sea, like one who has lost his love, continues to thrash and crash, and frighten. It's all consuming fury, a warning. Suddenly, it's no more fury that we hear. It's passion. The sound of love so pure, so violent, that the sky catches fire.

We sit, our bodies confined within the four walls of mackiavelli, five year plans, caste discrimination, environmental ethics and what not. Our souls float outside, free, in the rain, dreaming of Shakespeare and Wordsworth.

Welcome home, monsoon. I'm glad you finally decided to visit us.

a tale of the monkeys and the girls

07:15 am

Trrringgg! Ah! The alarm! Another enchanting morning. I looked around to see a couple of beautiful smiles and hear warm greetings and then did a quick mind scan of the schedule for the day and smiled to myself. Humming as I picked up necessary stuff, I danced my way to the door.  I let the door wide open to let in the breeze. BANG! That was me slamming the door and cowering in fright in my room. The monkey was patiently lying in wait.

x-x-x-x

This is how we begin our day. Hostel life, more than anything else, is a constant battle against the monkeys. A fight over rights of pathway, rights to use the washroom, rights to drink water from the dispenser, right to eat food without having to share it with them, rights to reclaim our clothes from the clotheslines, rights to the use of our cupboards and dustbins, rights to our bags, rights to our phones, spectacles and watches,  rights to our dupattas and what not. As evolved as humans are said to be, the monkeys appear to be the constant victors. All our mail boxes are flooded with complaints on one side and brainwaves regarding monkey control on the other side. They form an intricate part of our lives, as much as we hate it.
I always think back to those innocent days when I would stand outside the monkey cage in the Thiruvananthapuram zoo and admire the smart monkeys. As a kid, there were a million stories that I heard and told about the clever nature of the monkeys. Every single one of those stories mocked the other animal/human involved in it. Being on the receiving end of that is not exactly the greatest prospect in the world. The stories we've heard about Hanuman! The way the Indian society glorifies that one character and the vanar sena that helped Lord Ram! It's shocking to realize  that these ones I fight over my food with, are the successors of those ones who are worshipped! Never did I imagine that there would be one day when I would be compelled to think of genocide, just for mental peace. The same smartness that awed me, when I was small, disgusts me now. All hysterical screams ringing through the hostel set me thinking about the so called power that we, as humans, have over this world. Every single resident in here is as susceptible to these 'less intelligent' beings as is a tick.
"Monkeys!!Arggghhhhh!!!". That is what all of us have been reduced to. There have been times when I've spotted a monkey sitting on the parapet, listening intently to my conversation. As I look at a new born monkey, it surprises me that I have become absolutely incapable of recognizing the beauty I saw in it eons ago. Oh! There! A monkey is clawing at my window sill. Given circumstances, I'm pretty sure it knows I was writing about it. Time for me to fight over rights to the stationery on my table! Adios.

alpha

The thought of vacation has always conjured up the image of 'India'. Forests and mountains; rains and the waves; grandparents who pamper me, aunts, uncles and cousins; festivals and functions and oh so much catching up to do; the sight of animals crossing the roads with us; the rickshaws and the best of the lot - no school. It had never crossed my mind that some day,  that same world would force me to stand on my own shaky feet. 

Leaving home was an inevitable step, but that fact never completely hit me or was understood by me till the day I actually left home. In the eyes of the world, I was 18 by then, and should have been ready to fend for myself. But I felt like a newborn. The fact that, if I didn't go for dinner before the mess closed, no one would even realize it  and that there wasn't a mom to save me food for later may sound simple but definitely didn't feel so. Having to wash my own clothes, maintain money in my wallet, see that I don't run out of supplies, find transportation every time I wanted to go somewhere and just the plain, simple task of maintaining records and papers, all seemed so big. All so new. All so different. All so cold. 

The completely different surroundings that I have been thrown into makes me look at everything as a brand new phenomenon. These little happenings have prompted me to put it down on paper. Which is what I intend to do here. This blog contains just the overflowing thoughts of a freewheeling mind.