MellowDrama

It is a strange thing that I am slowly turning into a pessimist. I have been the one whom you could always trust to find you the positive thing in any situation. After being in Kolkata for more than six months, I can barely see any sense in the plunge that I took. I have nobody to blame. Unfortunately. I wish someone had forced me to do this but no luck here, not even the circumstances were such that I should have given up my life and come here. In my dreams I often find myself at various nooks and corners, simply standing, or crossing a road, taking a bus from PGI, or getting down at the Sector 22 bus stop, shielding my eyes from the sun as I hunt for some office in the over-crowded Sector 34 or is it 35, and then again sit down near the fountain at the Plaza for basking in life's glory. After leaving home for hostel I would dream of Palampur but I, as a kid, have not roamed about much in the various neighbourhoods. I still see Palampur in my dreams when the Dhauladhars utter

Ah! my beloved Palampur. I had meant to do two posts. One on the history of Palampur, some of which I dug up during walks this time and another one on the new-ness of Palampur reflected in things like the increased number of hand holding couples in Kanwar Sita Ram Park at any given point of time in a day. A sign that the town is growing and how! Since I stepped out of house for education and other mundane things like work and marriage, I have never had this kind of time to spend lavishly on walks around the town. The time I did not spend looking at the Dhauladhaars was spent in contemplating the changed town. What stuck me most was that Palampur is becoming filthier. I dread that it might turn out to be a Kullu or a Simla. Oh that would hurt so much. The sight of Neugal Park was heart wrenching. The beautiful white cast iron structures which form a large part of my memories at Neugal, are no longer there. Despite plaques claiming CM's inauguration of this (the khudd) and

I have often wondered why I take up the idea of friendship very seriously. A recent pondering over the matter after a status update on the issue on Facebook made me think of all the stories inspired from our rich mythology that might be behind this thought process. I was largely brought up under my grandmother’s supervision. She is a pious lady who has deposited her wealth of faith at the feet of Lord Krishna. When I was in the impressionable age of 3-5 years my grandmother had time, energy and inclination at her side to devote to me by instilling in me all the right kinds of values and morals. I have clear memories of her animated story telling sessions, urging me to go off to sleep in the languid afternoons of hot/ rainy months in Palampur, while I demanded yet another story. Her stories came from the Ramayana and the Mahabharta wheras the ones told to me by my grandfather or even by my mother were sourced from the Panchtantra. Her, my grandmother’s, stories were about the good

Writing is a lonely thing. And by that I don not mean anything sad or negative. To me it comes in solitude, in being alone, in being by myself. It comes, when I am not thinking of the menu for the next meal having just ingested one. Or how to teach my daughter three-lettered words which she can spell but seems to be unable to read out. Writing comes to me when I am thinking of my days at home as a school going kid. it comes to me in the silence of the house. In the warm, humid afternoons when everything is sluggish or appears to take on a drugged effect. it comes often at nights when my body id not tired enough to be able to sleep as soon as my head touches the pillow. It comes to me in the loo when I am dreaming up situations. At times it comes alongside the memories of school and college days and people from there. Stories. Some very short. Some long journeys. Some come from looking at the shape of clouds, shielding my eyes from the glare of the sun, which like a strict teacher is ta

a year again has come to pass. i like the fact that my birthday is near the start of a new year. that ways i dnt have trouble chronicling what/how the past year had been. i was thinking about this week last year and what was happening at that time. i was running scared of a woman who was calling up my phone and bad mouthing me. i had gotten two of my burly friends to call her and scare her but she proved too much for those two even and gave them an ear-full as well. the next remarkable thing that happened in this week was our first holiday together as a family to hyderabad. we had never gone anywhere on our own before this. just the three of us, that is. it was an adventure in itself with bookings in a filthy hotel to having booked tickets on a flight a year ahead of our return dates.but all in all, it was good fun and helped take my mind off the mad woman, which had caused many a sleepless nights. the government jaab continued with its ups and downs. an explanation here and there. mee